Waiting For a Killer
by Cassandra Elise
Summary: Steed Wants to See His Mother. Emma is Expecting Someone. Cathy Waits in the Dark. Tara Sheds Some Light. FINALE Updated 12/01/02 Thanks to all my loyal readers!
1. Default Chapter

NOTE: This is the third in a series of Avengers stories that I've written. If you are a new Avengers fan and haven't read any of my other stories, I suggest you read them first, for this story will be a spoiler. So read The Avengers: Mother Knows Best, followed by Inferno Island. Then Waiting for a Killer will make more sense. Thank you, and enjoy!  
  
  
The AVENGERS   
  
  
Basil Creighton-Latimer gingerly smoothed his suit coat before gazing around his uncle's office. His uncle was the head of a secret agent ministry and was known as Mother. Basil was here to petition for several other spies, who thought the authoritative man was mistreating them by repeatedly brainwashing two of them. Being in love with one of the spies, Basil had offered to talk to his uncle.   
  
Basil was sitting in an ostentatious room with ornate trimmings and crystal chandeliers. It appeared Mother's office this week was in a stately mansion somewhere in Derbyshire, a rural area of Great Britain. Where is Mother? he wondered to himself in apprehension.  
  
Suddenly, he heard ominous footsteps on the marble floor outside the room where he was sitting. It couldn't belong to Mother, for the obese man always rode around in a wheelchair for convenience. Every muscle in Basil tightened as he strained to hear some noise other than the insistent clatter of footsteps coming closer and closer . . .  
As abruptly as they had begun, the footsteps stopped. There was an uncomfortable silence that permeated the room then the sound of someone firing a gun. The footsteps resumed its unrelenting clamor, but this time they were quick, steady strides.  
  
Basil leapt from his chair in horror and raced down the halls in pursuit of the owner of the footsteps. It was futile, though, for the intruder had long vanished. Basil searched in every room, looking for who or what the stranger was shooting. Finally, in one of the more modest quarters, he found what he was looking for. It was Mother, sprawled on the ground, unconscious or maybe even dead. His wheelchair was tipped over on top of him.  
  
Mr. Creighton-Latimer approached his injured uncle to see if he was alive. As he placed his hand on the inert man's wrist, two spies entered the room.  
  
"My God, Basil, why did you do it?" a man named Shuston cried.  
  
"I never thought one of our own men would kill our boss!" added the agent named Pemberly.  
  
Basil stared at one face and then the other, not believing what he heard. They thought he was responsible for Mother's current condition! "I didn't do it!" he bellowed as he rushed from the room. It was to no avail, for the two spies quickly outran the framed suspect and took him into custody to be questioned.  
  
In the room where Mother lay, a shadowy figure entered to have a look at his or her victim. A maniacal chuckle escaped the murderer's lips.  
  
  
Waiting For a Killer  
  
Steed Wants to See His Mother  
Emma is Expecting Someone  
  
Cathy Waits in the Dark  
Tara Sheds Some Light  
First Day  
  
Emma Steed, lovingly known as Mrs. Peel by her husband and associates, was redecorating Steed's bedroom in preparation for their baby, who was due in four months. She had just finished setting up a yellow and orange Japanese folding screen to separate their sleeping area from the baby's. Now Steed just needed to transport the heavy box with the crib up the winding staircase and assemble it. Which reminded her: where was her darling husband?  
  
Emma descended the spiral staircase, which ended near the kitchen. She scrutinized the kitchen and dining area, but Steed was not there. Shrugging her shoulders, Mrs. Peel walked into the apartment's living room to have a look at the instructions for the crib's assembly. She snatched them from their position on the top of the box. After a quick survey, an amusing site met her brown, doe eyes.   
  
Where it should have said Step One, the words Mrs. Peel were printed instead. Suddenly, Steed popped up from his hiding place behind the crib's box. "We're needed!" he informed her in his charming, British accent.  
  
****************  
  
"'Place mattress into the crib (mattresses sold separately and subject to availability,'" John Steed read from the real instructions, not the fake pamphlet he had created. He glanced at the crib that he and Emma had put together over the last hour. "They certainly know how to get you to spend your money.   
  
'To use, put baby in the crib. (Do not exceed one hundred pounds.)' Really?" he remarked dryly.  
  
"Well, there goes my idea of putting this baby in the crib," Emma teased, indicating Steed. "Baby is still too big!" She gazed at Steed's six-foot, two-inch frame. She then adjusted the long sleeves on her frost green blouse and smoothed her khaki pants. Usually she wore a belt with her dresses and pants, but her stomach was getting too round from the baby to have that accessory anymore. Fortunately having been incredibly slender before, her baby barely showed even though she was five months pregnant.  
  
Mrs. Peel efficiently changed the conversation by bringing up their latest case. "So why are we so desperately needed?"  
  
"As you know, we have been petitioning with Mother to let us form our own ministry. We must gain consent from our supervisor, because the government and its many other secret agencies label anyone who separates from an existing organization without permission a traitor. We do not want to spend the rest of our days explaining that we are not the enemy." Steed began his descent down the spiral stairs, his wife following close behind him.  
  
John Steed marched resolutely into the living room where he immediately poured himself a glass of brandy from his personal bar. "You, Tara King, and I have all failed in getting Mother's consent. Mr. Basil Creighton-Latimer went to Mother's office today in pursuit of gaining his permission with disastrous results. Either Mother refused to grant his own nephew's request, so Basil became irate, or Latimer never had his meeting with Mother."  
  
"Why do you say that?"  
  
"Because Mother was found lying on the floor with his wheelchair on top of him, shot three times in the back." Steed looked straight into Emma's eyes, frightening her with his portentous stare.  
  
"Is Mother dead?" she asked, barely wanting to hear the answer.  
  
"Fortunately, Mother has always been the pessimistic type and was covered in chain-mail. He merely was stunned from the blow, so he fell out of his wheelchair-"   
  
"And his heavy weight tipped over the wheelchair as well," Emma Peel Steed finished. "Has Mr. Creighton-Latimer admitted to the crime?"  
  
"No, but he is still in custody being cross-examined by our men." Steed finished his brandy with a satisfactory sigh. There was something so humorous in the way that Steed could still find enjoyment even in the middle of some pressing news. "Since Mother's back was turned to the door when he was shot, he can't prove if it really was his nephew or not."   
  
"So now that Basil is out of the picture, whom can we get to talk to Mother? If we keep producing the same three people, I highly doubt he will become more agreeable. He'll probably become quite the opposite." Emma crossed her slender arms over her chest and waited for an answer.  
  
"I was thinking of asking Mrs. Gale to help us." Steed averted his wife's questioning glance.  
  
"We haven't seen Dr. Gale for over a month, and I get the impression that she is quite pleased with that arrangement. Unlike Tara and I, Mrs. Gale prefers to work in a museum than to assist you in your cases."  
  
"I wouldn't just force the idea on her. I would casually bring it up, and gradually her mind would become accustomed to the idea." Steed rubbed his hands together briskly as he added, "Trust me, she'll be eager to help us when I'm through with her."  
  
"Is that supposed to be encouraging?" Emma inquired wryly. She gazed at her large, white wristwatch and exclaimed, "It's time for tea!" She slipped into the kitchen to fix their routine cup of tea. "So who is suspected of sabotaging our requests?" Mrs. Peel called from the kitchen.  
  
"It could be a number of people since I have so many enemies." Steed seated himself in a chair by the dining area's table.   
  
"It must be dreadful knowing all those people hate you," Emma remarked nonchalantly. She hardly seemed fazed to find that her husband had myriad of adversaries. She merely gazed at Steed from over the orange counter that separated the kitchen from the dining room.  
  
"After awhile, having so many enemies is just as routine as having a cup of tea."  
  
"I can't help thinking that drinking tea is a lot more beneficial for your health," Mrs. Peel declared in a wry manner.  
  
Steed chuckled, obviously amused at this comment. "It isn't nearly as worrisome, I'll say that much." Steed suddenly clapped his hand to his forehead in revelation. "I almost forgot to mention that I've invited two guests for tea!"  
  
"Don't tell me Mrs. Gale is one of them?" After Emma Peel received a nod from her companion, she said, "I had better change my clothes! Watch the teakettle," she pointed at the shiny, silver pot, "because I will not be held responsible if the water over-boils." Then she exited the room and climbed the stairs.   
  
She returned shortly, attired in a long sleeve, yellow dress with miniskirt. A collage of browns and off-white were mixed together in an almost paisley pattern. Mrs. Peel had left her flowing auburn hair alone, just parting it to the right as she nearly always did.  
  
Steed smiled satisfactorily at his wife before taking the tray with the tea into the living area. Upon setting the tray down on a little side table, he flattened his blue tie and brushed undetectable dust off his gray suit coat. Emma tried to hide her little round stomach by pulling at the material of her dress.  
  
As the two spies were finishing their grooming, a ceremonious knock was heard at the door. Emma Steed admitted Miss Tara King into the flat. Tara was bedecked in a fuzzy, red winter's coat with black fur around the collar and the wrists. When she removed her wool, she revealed a snug, black sweater and equally as tight black pants.   
  
Emma welcomed Tara as civilly as she could muster, but it was difficult. Each of them knew how much the other adored John Steed. Tara had been Steed's partner for a while when Emma's "husband" had returned home, and Tara never could get over the fact that Emma had returned to take her place. Mrs. Steed was jealous of her because Steed had become quite intimate with Miss King in her absence. Though he claimed he had never become romantically involved with the young woman, Emma had heard tales that disproved his story.  
  
If Steed noticed the painfully cordial behaviour of his two women companions, he made no comment on it. Instead, he bade Tara to join them for a cup of tea. "I suppose you heard of Basil's unfortunate incident?" he queried Miss King.  
  
"Yes, and I'm puzzled and disturbed at what it all means." Tara sat down on the leather sofa before continuing, "It seems odd that anyone would want to sabotage our plans. After all, if we're such nuisances, wouldn't they like to see us go?"  
  
"You bring up an interesting point, but I have heard, in all due modesty, that I am the best agent in the country." Steed tried to suppress a pompous smirk. "Since I'm such a valuable asset, they will want to keep me. Remember: the reason Mrs. Peel and I were brainwashed was to prevent me from leaving the ministry to spend time with my wife."  
  
Tara spooned in a lump of sugar, stirred, and took a sip. "You don't think Mother is behind all this?"  
  
"Since he was just severely injured in today's fiasco, I highly doubt," Steed replied. "A smart man like Mother doesn't put his life in danger just to carry out some whim of his own."   
  
"But, we didn't think he was behind the brainwashing coup either," Emma reminded him. She seated herself next to Tara and poured Steed and herself a cup of tea.   
  
Standing by the fireplace, Steed rested his left arm on the mantel. He had just gotten comfortable when the doorbell rang furiously. He eagerly advanced to the door and opened it. Mrs. Catherine Gale, doctor in anthropology, entered the flat with her usual short smile spread across her lovely face.   
  
"I can't stay long, for I have a dinner engagement with Martin King," was the first remark out of the serious Cathy Gale's mouth.  
  
"That's all right; we're just enjoying a warm, cup of tea. It's wonderful way to sooth our chilled bones." Steed ushered Cathy into the living area and pulled up a chair for her. "Awfully cold weather we're having for late autumn? It reminds me of the weather we got at my Aunty Jill's winter cabin in the Alps."  
  
"Doesn't that make your fifteenth aunt, Steed?" Tara asked in amusement.  
  
"I'm glad you could join us, Dr. Gale." Emma smiled at the buxom blond before her. "If you want to join the conversation, we were just discussing the terrible incident with Basil Creighton-Latimer."   
  
Before Emma could explain what she meant, Steed interrupted her. "Yes, it appears the young chap has come down with a terrible case of laryngitis. He can't utter three syllables."  
  
"So, you still haven't been able to meet with Mother?" Cathy observed.   
  
"Yes, and we don't know who to send, now that poor Basil is ill." Mrs. Peel stared significantly at Steed, as if to say, "Why are we lying to her?" She stirred his tea anticlockwise then handed it to him.   
  
"I would ask Dr. King, but he never was too eager to help me out of a sticky situation." Steed paused for emphasis before adding, "And you, Mrs. Gale, are totally out of the question. I could ask Dr. Keel, but I don't know his new address-"  
  
"Why am I out of the question?" Cathy Gale demanded.   
  
Steed feigned a look of surprise and replied, "Well, I assumed that you didn't want any part in spying anymore."  
  
"We respect your decision, mind you," added Mrs. Steed.  
  
"Do you also think that I don't want to help my friends?" Mrs. Gale asked irately. "Of course I'll talk to Mother!"  
  
"Splendid; the ministry hospital is allowing visitors for Mother tomorrow!" cried Tara quickly before Steed could make some unruly remark about Cathy's change of heart. "One of us will go over there to set up a meeting between you and him."  
  
"Why is Mother in a hospital?" Cathy inquired suspiciously.  
  
"Well, it seems he had a little too much scotch yesterday and consequentially, he fell out of his wheelchair," Emma responded.   
  
This answer seemed to suffice, for Mrs. Gale proclaimed, "Now that it's all settled, I'll just have a cup of tea and be on my way."   
  
After twenty minutes of chitchat, she was out the door. It had been a brief but very productive get-together.   
  
"I'll go visit Mother tomorrow, if no one objects." Steed surveyed the two remaining women, who stayed completely silent.   
  
"Why didn't you tell her the truth about Basil?" Tara questioned Mr. Steed.   
  
"If she knew that she was walking right into danger, do you think she would do it?" was the reply.  
  
"I don't exactly approve of using sneaky measures with friends, but under the circumstances, I must agree with Steed," Emma interjected. "She is our last hope, to put it dramatically."  
  
Tara gave her consent, even though she didn't have much say in it. Before she left, she entreated, "Please keep me inform of the latest progress." The Steeds promised the young woman that they would. Then, with one last longing gaze at John Steed, the brunette beauty exited the vicinity.  
  
"We should be done with this case in no time," Steed casually remarked.   
"I don't know why, but I have such a premonition that the killer is going to strike again," Emma Peel began slowly, deliberating over each word. "And this time, I don't think the victim is going to survive."  
  
To Be Continued . . . 


	2. Second Day

Second Day   
  
  
John Steed tentatively sipped his morning coffee. Seeing it was not too hot for consumption, he took a larger gulp. He set the mug down with a satisfied sigh before spreading some orange marmalade on a piece of toast.   
  
Emma entered the room in a white, light and dark blue striped dress with billowy sleeves. "So what is the itinerary today, Steed?" She seated herself at the dining table and helped herself to a boiled egg and a buttered piece of toast.  
  
"I'm going to visit Mother, and you are going to research which of my enemies have escaped or been released from prison."  
  
"Should there be many on the loose?"  
  
"That's what you're supposed to find out, my dear." The phone began ringing incessantly, so Steed jumped up to answer it. "Steed here."  
  
"Mr. John Steed," came a high, feminine voice, "you may begin your journey to Department S to visit Mother. It should take you one hour and five minutes to reach your destination from your flat. Remember: if you come a minute too soon or a minute to late, land mines will explode you into a million pieces. Have a nice day and drive carefully." The dial tone began buzzing annoyingly in Steed's ear.  
  
"I have to be going, Mrs. Peel," Steed commented, using his wife's old name affectionately.   
  
Intent on removing her eggshell without loosing too much of the actual egg, Emma murmured a brief goodbye to Steed. She didn't even look up from her tedious task as Steed flitted around the room, looking for his misplaced black brolly and matching bowler.  
  
Soon Steed was cruising down the English roads in his aged, yellow Rolls Royce. He arrived at the grounds that led to Department S precisely one hour and five minutes later. He crossed a field filled with skulls and bones, slid under a fence, and arrived at the farm that served as the ministry's convalescent home. Mr. Steed rapped at the door with his umbrella's wooden handle.  
  
A red-haired woman opened the door and emitted Steed inside. "You made it just in time, Mr. Steed." The woman smiled demurely as she added, "I am Agent 114, Fran Minolta, Mother's personal nurse."  
  
"Oh dear, has Rhonda been discharged?" Steed asked. He was referring to the tall blonde, who was Mother's assistant, given a various assortment of jobs, like a secretary. The only requirement Mother had was that Rhonda had to remain absolutely silent.  
  
"No, but she was not qualified in the medical field, so she could not legally act as his nurse." Fran's brown eyes glistened with merriment. "I'll tell Mother that you are waiting for him."  
  
Steed ogled the nurse as she glided up a set of rickety stairs to the second floor. He wandered into a living are where he helped himself to some sherry and biscuits. Suddenly he realised just how hasty a breakfast he had eaten and just how ravenous he was. He really needed to stop the unhealthy habit of skipping breakfast.   
  
As Steed was eating and drinking the much-needed sustenance, three fellow agents entered the room. They were discussing in hushed-tones the plight of Basil Creighton-Latimer. A female spy, her right arm wrapped up in a sling, announced, "He must have done it, for I surely didn't!" This remark was nonsensical, but it was common for Mrs. Diana Parker to make such absurd statements.  
  
"No, I don't think the ol' man has it in him to commit such a crime," argued a handsome agent named Mitchell. His right leg dragged a little behind him, obviously an injury from a recent accident.   
  
The third person cleared his throat nervously as if to speak but said nothing. Steed realised that this third spy was unfamiliar to him. He gazed at the agitated man in utter interest. The stranger's wiry limbs protruded from his body at irregular angles. His head was bandaged, as was his left elbow.  
  
All at once, the three personages discovered to their dismay that Steed was listening indifferently to their conversation. "Steed, I haven't seen you for ages!" Mitchell cried apprehensively. He wasn't too fond of the dapper man ever since his encounter with him in the Caribbean four months ago.  
  
"What are you doing here?" demanded the thin stranger. His face was pale and gaunt, color that Steed expected to see on a deathly ill person.   
  
"I came to have a nice, leisurely chat with Mother," Steed replied in a blasé tone. He pretended not to be alarmed at the man's abrupt behaviour.   
  
"Harrod, that's no way to speak to a gentlemen," chastised the dense Mrs. Parker. "Well, we should return to our rooms now for a daily checkup."  
  
The two men agreed, so the three invalids climbed carefully up the stairs. Steed saluted them mockingly, but fortunately, their backs were turned. He settled himself into a squeaky, leather chair.  
  
Just then, the nurse entered the room. "I'm sorry, Steed, but I've just been informed that Mother will see no one."  
  
"But he set up this appointment with me over the phone today!" Steed protested in confusion.   
  
"Just the same, he has indubitably changed his mind." Fran dismissed the whole ordeal with a wave of her hand. "I will set the timer once again so you can cross the field safely."  
  
Steed had no choice but to obey the serious woman. In several minutes, he was making his way across the grounds once more. Nothing made any sense to him. Why would Mother ask Steed all the way out there just to tell him to go away? Was it to spite him for wanting to break away from the ministry?  
  
John rarely became angry, but this time was an exception. In fact, he was so enraged he didn't see a skull until he had stumbled over it. His bowler went sailing through the air, landing several yards ahead of him. Steed dashed after the bowler, but in his hurry, he accidentally kicked it. The wind grabbed the lightweight hat and sent it even more feet in front of the Englishman.  
  
Steed huffed and puffed as he chased after his prized possession. As a result of his running, he got to the other side of the grounds several minutes sooner than he normally would have. This did not mean anything to Steed has he snatched his bowler and lovingly placed it on his head.  
  
KABLOOM!  
  
At first Steed thought his hat had caused the deafening noise, but he soon realised that it was just the land mines exploding. Mr. Steed mulled over this piece of information for a minute before he came to a startling discovery. The bombs only exploded if someone set them off! They could only be set off if somebody entered the property when the timer wasn't on, or if a person deliberately made them go off by using the controls back at Department S.  
  
Did the bombs go off due to a faulty electrical problem, or had someone tampered with the controls? Was Steed supposed to have been blown to smithereens by the land mines? John Steed didn't know, but he couldn't go back to Department S and find out-not at the moment, anyway.  
  
********  
  
Emma tied a knot in her thread and snipped the excess off the little outfit she was sewing. The mint green jumper was now ready for her baby. Mrs. Steed had already created five tiny clothes in various colours for her child. They were in reds, greens, yellows, and blues that could be worn either by a girl or a boy. As she was returning her sewing basket to its proper place in the closet located off the living area, Steed entered the apartment.  
  
"I called the ministry and asked them to find out which criminals have escaped from jail," she informed Steed. Emma slinked over to the leather armchair where she immediately seated herself. "It seems four of your enemies from your early days, three from when you worked with Mrs. Gale, two from when you were with me, and four from when you were partnered with Miss King have all escaped or been released from prison."  
  
"How many are still reported of being in Great Britain?" Steed inquired.  
  
"Eight of them are suspected of still being in their motherland, so any one of those could be behind this dastardly scheme."  
  
Steed was pouring himself a glass of brandy from the bar. "And that's if you don't take in account that the reports might be wrong." He sloshed the alcohol around in his snifter before sipping it.  
  
"So we really have no idea who did it."  
  
"In other words, we're just as clueless as we were before."   
  
Mrs. Peel was about to reply when the telephone rang. She answered it, saying, "Hallo, Emma Steed here." There was a pause as she listened to the person on the other line and then she said, "Yes, he just returned home; I'll put him on." Emma tried to hide a smirk as she told him, "There's a Fran Minolta on the phone who must speak to you urgently. Tell her you can't possibly meet her for that romantic rendezvous because your wife found out about you two."  
  
Steed didn't make his usual sarcastic retort, but instead grabbed the phone from his wife. "What is it, Miss Minolta?"  
  
"Oh, Steed," wailed a voice, "I'm so glad that you're alive! When we heard those mines go off, we only thought that the worst had happened to you! I don't know what went wrong, unless an animal got under or flew over the fence . . ."  
  
"Could someone at the hospital have set it off using the controls?" Steed queried.   
  
There was a brief pause, followed by several stammers. "I-I didn't think of that, but it is a possibility."  
  
"It doesn't matter," Steed assured her, "as long as it doesn't occur again."  
  
"We've sent several of the male nurses to investigate the land mines, so we should get a report of what went wrong."  
  
"Well, when you find out, please notify me." Steed gently laid the phone back in its cradle. He glanced up at Emma only to discover her staring at him questioningly. "I was almost blown up by some land mines this morning," he explained.  
  
A look of utter concern filled Emma's long-lashed eyes. She regained enough composure to ask, "So when is Cathy going to meet with Mother?"  
  
"I don't know since I never got to see him." Steed proceeded to describe the whole events from earlier that day. When he finished, he concluded, "The sooner this whole bloody business is over with, the better off we'll all be."  
  
Several uneventful hours passed, and the Avengers became quite restless. To occupy her mind, Emma decided to go grocery shopping and left Steed in the living room to ponder. He sat in his easy chair, staring meditatively at the roaring fire in the hearth. His eyelids began to feel heavy, his vision began to blur . . .  
  
DINGDONG!   
  
Steed jumped out of his chair, sputtering imprecations that a gentleman should never use. He was becoming very peeved at being frightened out of his wits by different noises. Steed stalked to the door and yanked it open.  
  
There sat an extremely obese man in a wheelchair, a tall blonde standing behind him, ready to push him into the flat. The man had a large bandage wrapped around his head and a large cigar clamped in his mouth.   
  
"Mother, I thought you were at Department S!" Steed cried in incredulity.   
  
"Well, you had an appointment with me and didn't keep it!" Mother accused his best agent.  
  
Steed stared confusedly as he replied, "The nurse said that you gave her explicit instructions not to be disturbed by anyone."  
  
Scoffing in disbelief, the man motioned for Rhonda to wheel him inside. "She must have been talking to another mother, for I never said that." He seemed rather unfazed at this bit of news, though. "So did you come to Department S to appeal to me to 'let your people go'?" Mother asked sardonically.  
  
"Actually, I was hoping you could give me any clues that might help me find the man who tried to murder you." Steed offered Mother a drink, which the corpulent man readily agreed to.   
  
"All I heard were steady footsteps, followed by the sound of an antique revolver firing."  
  
"Antique?" Steed repeated. "Do you know anyone who owns an antique revolver?"   
  
"There are several of our agents who own numerous weapons, but I can't tell you off hand who they are, or if their guns are antiques."  
  
"You don't think Basil really did it, do you Mother?"  
  
Mother snorted disdainfully before replying, "I don't believe Basil could kill a fly, let alone his own uncle. And that's not just because he's too gentle, but because he's too incompetent to handle a gun that well. The person who fired at me knew what he was doing."  
  
"I think you should head back to Department S before you're missed." Steed opened the front door for his boss.  
  
"My dear man, did you think I escaped from that dreary convalescent home? No sir, I merely told the nurses and doctors that I was well and demanded to be released." Rhonda began pushing Mother out the door, but Steed checked them.   
  
"Mother, Mrs. Gale wants to talk to you about our separation. Maybe if you heard her point of view, you would be convinced. She was in love with Smyth, one of your best spies-"  
  
"And she turned him against me," Mother broke in. He smiled nefariously as he continued, "All right, she may talk to me, but it doesn't mean I will change my mind. Have her come around to the Penney Estate tomorrow at four o'clock-we can have a nice cup of tea together." Mother was wheeled out of the apartment and down the hall.  
  
"Thanks a million, Mother," Steed called after him. Even though he and Mother disagreed on certain issues, Steed still admired the both strange and somber man. He hoped they would be able to work out their differences before one of them took desperate measures . . .  
  
To Be Continued! 


	3. Third Day

Third Day   
  
  
Early the next morning (actually it was nine o'clock, but that's early for Steed), John told Emma how Mother had paid him the night before. When he finished explaining the situation to his wife, he called Mrs. Gale to inform of her meeting with Mother. Since Cathy didn't know how to get to the Penney Estate, Steed offered to drive her. This arrangement settled, Steed hung up the phone and began conversing with his wife.  
  
Emma remarked, "I've been thinking: if Department S is so impregnable, how did the enemy get to the controls to set off the mines, unless-"  
  
"Unless our nemesis is one of the ministry's own agents," finished Steed, in deep contemplation.   
  
Emma shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. "It could have been a malfunction like we thought before." Her husband reluctantly agreed, but she could see that he was stilling musing over the whole mystery.  
  
Two hours later, Miss King entered the flat to discuss Creighton-Latimer's fate. "They still won't release him from custody even though he's pleaded innocence every time they cross-examined him! Mother hasn't said anything about getting his nephew out of trouble. I think he likes the fact that Basil is out of the way since he's such a blithering idiot."  
  
"I'm glad that you have such a high opinion of Creighton-Latimer," Emma commented dryly.  
  
"The worst part of all of this, is that they have inclusive proof that he committed the crime," added Tara.  
  
"I wasn't aware of that," Steed declared.  
  
"Didn't you know? They found an antique revolver at his flat and it has been fired recently! Basil claims that he was cleaning it, but no one is convinced. They say that you don't need to fire a gun to clean it." Tara paced up and down the floor in her knee-high, black boots. Her forest green jacket and skort and black shirt crinkled with every movement. "Basil is so stupid and clumsy, though, that he might have accidentally fired the revolver." Tara sighed in exasperation and added, "I'm just so confused about this case."  
  
"Hopefully, we'll be separating from the ministry soon and won't get more involved in this mystery," Emma consoled her.  
  
Glancing at his pocket watch, Steed exclaimed, "I've got to pick up Mrs. Gale!"  
  
"Tell me if she has changed anything in my flat," Emma called. Mrs. Gale had been searching for a new apartment, and when Mrs. Steed had moved into her husband's flat, Cathy had taken the opportunity to rent it.  
  
"I will take a look if I have time, my dear." Steed addressed Tara, "Why don't you stay for tea?"  
  
"It's eleven thirty, Steed," Tara began, stumbling for a better excuse to get out of spending extra time with Mrs. Peel.  
  
"I could show you the renovations we've made to our home, if you like," Emma suggested. Tara acquiesced, so Steed, seeing he was not needed to end a brawl, left the apartment building.  
  
Soon he was at Mrs. Gale's flat, but he didn't stay to see if anything had been altered. The two merely set out for Penney Estate in a comfortable silence, which was quite unusual for the unlikely pair. After several hours of driving in Steed's green Bentley, they pulled up at the iron gates of the mansion.   
  
Not even opening the door to help him make his exit, Steed hopped out of the car. He entered a red telephone booth that was standing right by the gates. He called the estate's number and soon was speaking to a female on the other end. After Steed gave the correct password, the iron gates opened to admit the two spies.  
  
"I'll just escort you to the door, and then I've got some errands to do in the little village down the way. Emma wants me to pick up a special type of fish that they only sell in the country. The price of being a husband," Steed sighed.  
  
Mrs. Gale smiled in amusement as she replied, "You'll survive marriage, Steed; I have full confidence in you." She and Steed alighted the vehicle and entered the front hall of the manor.  
  
Coming in from an adjacent room, Fran Minolta civilly greeted the two. "You must be Mrs. Gale, and you are?" she questioned Steed.  
  
"Why, Miss Minolta, we met yesterday at Department S, remember?" Steed asked.   
  
A small frown formed on Fran's red lips. "I've never seen you before in my life."  
  
"But I have met you, and I can prove it!" Steed protested. "You're Agent 114, personal nurse to Mother."  
  
Miss Fran's blue eyes darted around the room, as if she was afraid of someone overhearing their conversation. "That is true, but I was never at Department S. I graduated from spy training school three months ago, but had to return home when one of my siblings got into a spot of trouble. I just returned to the ministry yesterday, so they thought my being Mother's nurse would be a good first assignment."   
  
Steed's bluish-grey eyes were cast to the ground in embarrassment, while two red splotches spread across his cheeks. He sputtered indignantly several times, determined to prove to this woman that they had been introduced before.   
  
"Don't you have some errands you must attend to, Steed?" Cathy tactfully reminded him.  
  
"Thank you, Mrs. Gale, for saving my skin!" Steed quickly made his exit before Miss Minolta could say anything more to degrade him.   
  
"I thought spies weren't supposed to visit family once part of an agency," Cathy remarked, referring to Fran's comment about helping one of her siblings when he or she was in danger.   
  
"We're allowed to have contact with our families if we don't tell them that we're secret agents," Fran explained. "It's a new rule that all don't agree on." She twirled a piece of her short red hair around her finger. "I'll tell Mother that you have arrived. Please, make yourself comfortable," she pointed to the ornate room where Basil had been sitting the day of the crime.  
  
Mrs. Gale cordially thanked the young woman before seating herself in a stiff, leather chair with mahogany arms and legs. She found it very uncomfortable, but there appeared to be no furniture in the room that was comfy. Legs crossed at the ankle, Cathy tilted back in her chair to wait.  
  
To pass the time, she curiously surveyed the room. Two large crystal chandeliers illuminated the room that Mrs. Gale had decided was a formal parlour. A golden-framed mirror hung on the elaborately wallpapered left wall. On the right wall were several ancient portraits of people that greatly resembled Mother. Cathy wondered if the Penney Estate actually belonged to Mother or one of his relatives.  
  
Soon her thoughts drifted to what rare type of fish Mrs. Steed had asked her husband to buy. Maybe it wasn't a different species of fish, but a special way the men in the village prepared it. Cathy knew not how long she puzzled over Steed's ambiguous errand. She just remembered coming back to reality and hearing a large grandfather chime the half-hour.   
  
Cathy glanced at her watch, then at the door where Fran had disappeared, then at her watch again. It was now four thirty p.m., a half an hour later than when she was supposed to have had her meeting with Mother.  
  
Suddenly out of the corner of her eye, she saw some movement. Someone was sneaking around in the house! Cathy Gale quickly turned to stare at the intruder and discovered it had merely been her reflection from the expensive mirror.   
  
Mrs. Gale laughed nervously. "His being late is making you nervous. Nothing to worry about," she told herself.  
  
"Hello again."  
  
At the sound of the voice, Catherine Gale jumped to her feet, petrified beyond words.  
  
Fran Minolta laughed merrily as she exclaimed, "Oh, I didn't mean to startle you, Mrs. Gale." Her blue eyes sparkled with mirth, and she glanced down at the feather duster in her hand. "I'm supposed to dust Mother's 'office,' while you're talking with him. Hasn't he called you into the study?" When Cathy numbly shook her head, Miss Minolta continued, "Would you like some tea?"  
  
Nodding, Mrs. Gale eased back into her chair with a timid smile.   
  
RRRRIIIINNNNGGGG!   
  
A telephone frightened both of them, and all of a sudden Agent 114 seemed nervous. "I suppose I should answer it."   
  
Dr. Gale gazed out a window that overlooked the front grounds and driveway. A strange red object on the other side of the iron gates caught her eye. Every muscle in Cathy's body tensed as she turned to gaze at it. She discovered it was only the telephone booth with a man, conspicuously dressed in black, making a call. Mrs. Gale recollected how Steed had used the phone booth when they had first arrived. Was someone trying to get inside the mansion?  
  
The wind whistled sharply around the corner of the house, sounding like a forlorn ghost to Cathy. Where is Mother? she wondered, unwittingly repeating the exact thoughts of Basil before he found Mother's body. She clutched the chair with all her might, and her knuckles turned white from the tension.  
  
Miss Minolta had hung up the phone. There were several footsteps echoed through the hall and then silence. All at once, a clamorous "bang" resounded off the lofty walls of the estate.  
  
Impulsively, Cathy turned to the noise and beheld Fran lifting a heavy candlestick off a side table by the mirror. She saw Cathy's reflection in the mirror and whirled around, clutching the object closely.   
  
Images of silver candlesticks from the board game Cluedo reeled through Mrs. Gale's mind. She leaned back in her chair, farther away from the girl.   
  
"I-I was just going to-to dust it," Fran explained apprehensively. "I'll go get your tea." She rushed out of the room, candlestick still in her grip.  
  
Dr. Gale ran to the window. "Hurry, Steed, or I may soon be dead!" Suddenly an inspiration hit her like a bolt of lightening. Quickly she ran to the front door and stepped outside, shutting the door gently behind her. She began running madly to the iron gates, escaping from the eeriness of the desolate mansion.   
  
As she approached the phone booth, she noticed a man dressed in black staring at her. He seemed to gaze into his soul, which frightened the anthropologist. She stared back at the stranger, realising that he was vaguely familiar. In long, steady strides, the man approached her.   
  
Mrs. Gale took a step backwards and then another, and another. "Maybe he wants to know who I am and what I'm doing here," she muttered to reassure herself. "See how he's reaching for his pocket." She paused to think this over thoroughly. "Wait a minute; a man dressed in black is reaching for his pocket? Why do I have the feeling he's hiding a gun?" Trying to look casual, Dr. Gale turned around and began jogging lightly.   
  
The man began picking up his pace. Soon he was running at full speed, but so was Cathy.   
  
Cathy hurried as fast as her athletic legs could carry her, but wasn't nearly as fast as the rate her adrenaline was pumping. The colossal manor loomed before her frighten eyes. She dashed up the steps of Penney Estate, slammed the door, and locked it.  
  
Mrs. Gale peeked out the window and observed the man clad in black running up the drive. He halted at the sight of the house and pulled out an antique revolver. He pointed it at Catherine's head, so she hurriedly stepped out of the way. Staring at the house, the man stuffed the gun back into his pocket. He seemed to be deliberating whether he should break the door down or not, but he finally shook his head. Then he grimly dashed back toward the front gates, undoubtedly to escape from any spies Cathy might rally to capture him.  
  
Still breathing heavily, Cathy Gale sat down.  
  
CRASH!  
  
Mrs. Gale lifted her head at the noise before rushing through the door where Fran had gone. Cathy found herself in a marbled hallway. She thought she detected sounds emerging from one of the many rooms down the hall. Finally, she found the kitchen where Fran must still be.   
  
Inside she saw no sign of shattered dishes anywhere, no broken glass. "Oh, sorry, I thought-" she stopped. Miss Minolta was sharpening knives, lots of knives, and they all were gleaming viciously at the talented amateur. Despite her usual daring behaviour, Cathy gulped.  
  
"Yes?" The girl turned from her work, clutching a bloody butcher's knife. Her brown eyes penetrated through Dr. Gale, casting her in a sort of trance.  
  
When Cathy saw the blood, her stomach writhed. "I-I'll leave you alone. Just-just bring the tea whenever you're ready." She glanced at a side door that led to the outside, and wondered if it was safer to brave the outdoors or to remain in the house. Choosing the latter, she turned to go back to the living room.   
  
WHOOSH! A knife whizzed passed her ear and thrust itself into the doorframe. The knife had been meant for her head! Cathy turned around only to discover Fran was gone! Why did she always end up in a house with no one around except for the psychopath who wanted to kill her? Cathy recalled that Emma had gone through a very similar circumstance, and it made her feel minutely better.   
  
She ran back to the ostentatious room, head spinning and stomach nauseous. She accidentally bumped into the table where the candlestick had been, and looking up, she saw twenty pairs of eyes staring back at her! The mirror had been shattered into a million fragments!   
  
Frantically, desperately, Dr. Gale stumbled blindly through the house, until she came to the dining room that was adjoining the kitchen. There she tripped over a huge lump in the rug and almost landed on some shattered teacups, saucers and a broken teapot. She gazed at the large lump in the rug, noting that something was definitely not right about it. Cautiously, she lifted the rug and discovered the inert body of Fran Minolta.   
  
Something cold and slimy gushed on her hands. Blood. Her stomach churned as she saw the large gouge in the agent's back, a gouge just the right size for a butcher's knife to make.   
  
She heard a door shut somewhere but ignored it. Her mind was full of murder, a man in black, and Miss Minolta. She rose to his feet, staring at the blood dripping from her hands.  
  
Mother entered at that inopportune moment, Rhonda pushing his wheelchair. "Ah, Mrs. Gale, sorry I'm late. I fell asleep and lost track of the time, most uncharacteristic of me. I'm such an advocate of punctuality. I-"  
  
Suddenly he noticed the crazed look in the middle-aged woman's eyes, and then he saw Fran and the blood on Cathy's hands. Silently, collectively, he motioned for Rhonda to back him into the kitchen where he instantly spotted the knife. "Get Shuston and Pemberly down here immediately!" Mother ordered the mute Rhonda. "Tell them that we're in the middle of a code red alert, that one of our agents has turned against us."  
  
Mrs. Gale abruptly snapped out of her stupor in order to yell, "No Mother, I didn't kill her!" But it was futile for any protestations, because Rhonda had phoned the two male agents.   
  
Cathy's fate was sealed. If the spies found her guilty, she was doomed for life in prison, or worse: DEATH.  
  
**********  
  
Steed hummed a breezy tune as he pulled up to the iron gates of Penney Estate. His cheerful humming gradually came to a halt when he spotted two automobiles of different colours pull out of the driveway. As the cars passed his, Steed was able to glance into the windows to see who the owners of the cars were. In the first vehicle was Agent Pemberly, looking absolutely solemn. In the second auto were Shuston and Mrs. Gale!  
  
Only expecting the worst, Steed sped up the long, winding driveway. As soon as he entered the manor, Mother greeted him with a most sober remark. "It's a sorry business when one spy murders another."  
  
"What exactly happened?" Steed demanded between clenched teeth.  
  
"Why, Mrs. Gale killed our new recruit, Agent 114."  
  
It took a minute for Steed to digest that piece of information, but after he did, he cried, "Do you honestly believe that my good friend Mrs. Gale, calm and sensible as she is, would actually murder somebody for no reason at all?"  
  
"Of course I don't, but what am I suppose to think?" snapped Mother. "I enter a room and I find that Dr. Gale, who is trying to break away from the ministry, has blood on her hands and is stooped over a body. She may not be the murderer, but if she were, I'd be a bloody fool not to take her into custody. And if she isn't the killer, I'd be just as stupid to let her go."  
  
"Why is that, pray tell?" Steed inquired in a saccharine tone.  
  
"Because if Mrs. Gale didn't kill Fran, than she must have been set up like Basil was."  
  
"Then we are all in mortal danger," Steed surmised.  
  
"You mean, anyone who wants to break away from the ministry is in danger," Mother corrected his favourite spy. "Steed, go home. You're no good when you're this agitated."  
  
"May I make a phone call first?" After receiving a nod form his superior, Steed went into the study to phone his apartment.  
  
Soon he heard a familiar voice answering his call. "Mrs. Peel," he began gravely, "Mrs. Gale was taken custody on charges of murder."  
  
There was a brief silence, and then Emma said, "Everything will be all right, I promise you." Her attitude was so gentle and convincing, Steed immediately believed her. "Now, please come home, John."   
  
Rarely did Emma use Steed's first name, only when she was being loving like on their first and second honeymoon to Italy. Emma's assurance had a hypnotic effect on Steed, and he trusted her fully, like an innocent child.  
  
To Be Continued! 


	4. First Night

First Night  
  
  
Cathy stared at the cold, damp wall of the jail cell. The air was full of the smell of mildew, while the unfriendly words of the real criminals permeated through the thick stonewalls and iron bars, cutting her like a knife. She glanced at her wristwatch, which read six thirty p.m.  
  
Tired of staring into space or at her watch, Mrs. Gale recollected her dazed reaction to the interrogation she had just been through a few minutes ago . . .  
  
"What's your name?" asked Shuston gruffly as if he had no clue. Two other spies shoved Cathy into a chair, while Shuston poised his pencil in air, impatiently waiting for an answer. "Come on, it's just your name I'm askin' for."  
  
Mrs. Gale did not reply, but surveyed her surroundings in interest. The police office had desks and file cabinets where numerous spies were busy at their meticulous work. Off to her right were row of chairs lined up against a table and a metal door. She knew that door led to the visiting section for the convicts. Beyond that laid the actual prison cells, snarling villains-Cathy squeezed her eyes shut at the thought.   
  
"Dr. Catherine Gale," she finally answered. The agents raised their eyebrows in surprise.  
  
"What are you a doctor of?" Shuston rubbed his chin thoughtfully, wondering if he should believe this amateur spy or not.  
  
"I'm a doctor of anthropology, which is the study of man," was the terse reply.  
  
"We'll have to get her fingerprint," Pemberly declared in a distinctly Welsh accent. "It's a normal procedure in these cases," he added hurriedly.  
  
Cathy just sat numbly as Pemberly pushed her fingers into some cold black ink. "She's covered in blood!"  
  
"By Jove, Pemberly, you're right." Shuston stared at Mrs. Gale's hands as if he'd never witnessed the sight of blood before. "You certainly were acting rashly when you killed Agent 114. Do the fingerprints match those of Mrs. Gale?"   
  
A sharp nod of the head answered the question, and Cathy was dragged off to a secluded jail where murderers of English agents were kept. Before she was pulled behind the heavy, lead door, she managed to scream, "But I didn't do anything!" After some ogling from the male wardens, Mrs. Gale was pushed into a dark cell to agonizingly wait for whatever the future would bring . . .  
  
"I didn't do anything," Cathy repeated to herself, staring blankly at the cell's wall.  
  
"That's what I said, too," came a soft, male voice.  
  
Dr. Gale turned, trying to find the owner of the voice. Finally she spotted the man, sitting on one of the dingy cots a few cells down from her. "You're Basil Creighton-Latimer!" she exclaimed in amazement.  
  
"You're straight on the nose, miss. What're you in here for, not anything as grisly as murder I hope?"  
  
"Actually, that's exactly why I'm in the murder section of this repulsive jail," responded Cathy caustically.   
  
"No fooling; that's what I'm in here for!" exclaimed Basil as if Cathy had just told him they shared the same birthday. "All I was doing was waiting to speak to my uncle-I mean Mother-and some very uncivil person shot him and had the gall to blame it on me!"  
  
"So you didn't have a violent case of laryngitis?" Cathy mused, putting the pieces together.  
  
"I've never had that awful disease in my life!"  
  
"I see; Steed lied to me, so I would have a meeting with Mother, because he knew I wouldn't go if there was a possibility that I could be framed for a gruesome murder!" Mrs. Gale was bellowing now, much to the chagrin of Basil.   
  
"That's the spirit. Speak innocently at the cross-examination, and Pemberly and Shuston are bound to let you go. When you go, please put in a good word for me. They don't seem to believe that I didn't attempt to kill my uncle."  
  
"You act is if I weren't framed and you were. I would never kill somebody unless in self defense."  
  
Basil examined Cathy's countenance warily before continuing, "You know, I really think you didn't commit murder, just like me. You have too honest a face to hide the feelings of a hardened criminal. I look at your face and see pain and desperation, and none of it is an act. How did you get framed, miss?"  
  
"I was waiting to talk to Mother at the Penney Estate, and while I was there Agent 114, Miss Minolta, was murdered."  
  
"Isn't that the way of things?" The stupid secret agent shook his head in disgust. "What did the poor dove look like?"  
  
"Well, she had short, curly, red hair and blue eyes-no brown." Suddenly Dr. Gale remembered something very important. When she had first met Miss Minolta, the spy had piercing blue eyes, and then later, after Cathy had gone to investigate the crash coming from around the kitchen, Fran had dark brown eyes! So not only had there been two women claiming to be Fran Minolta, but most likely the brown-eyed one had killed the blue-eyed one! There was only one more baffling question on Cathy's clearing mind. If she was being framed so she couldn't convince Mother to let Steed leave the agency, why was Miss Minolta slaughtered brutally? Why didn't the real killer try to slay Mother again?   
  
Mrs. Gale returned from her meditation only to discover that Basil was staring pityingly at her. "I'm afraid there's no hope for us. Whoever framed me must have framed you, and this criminal is clever. I just hope we are saved before we get executed."  
  
"Basil, do you mind not talking about . . . that."  
  
"What was I saying that offended you so much?" Basil cried in obvious alarm.  
  
"GETTING EXECUTED!"   
  
Basil was about to reply when Cathy was ushered into the visiting area of the jail where Dr. Martin King was patiently waiting for her.   
  
In order to get there, she had to walk past the rest of the jail cells until she reached a metal door. The warden removed a key from his belt and inserted it into the heavy door's keyhole. They exited that room only to enter another. This room had another metal door off to the left and a long table with a dozen chairs lined up against it to the right. Plastic partitions separated each chair from the next. The chairs faced a glass wall with a crisscross fence over it. A little opening in the bottom of the glass allowed the criminal to talk to the person on the other side.   
  
"Martin, I'm so relieved to see you!" Cathy cried as she seated herself opposite the man on the other side of the glass. She ignored the supervisor who marched over to the door on the left, which led to the police office where Dr. King was sitting and where she had been earlier.   
  
The doctor looked quite pleased at these romantic words. "Steed called to tell me of your predicament," he replied in a gravelly voice. "I rushed down here as soon as I could. How are you fairing, my darling girl?"  
  
Cathy eyed him adoringly before answering, "Well, if you really want to know, I have been better. I've never been so afraid and angry in all my life! That John Steed has tricked me into doing his dirty work many times before, but never was I framed for murder! If I get out of here, I'm going to yell at Steed like I should have done long ago!"  
  
Dr. King glanced sympathetically at his love. "Although Steed is the one who got you into this mess, I'm afraid he is also the only one who can get you out. Only he, with exception of Miss Tara King, knows your true character and, being a true member of the ministry, can plead with Mother-or whoever is in charge of the jail-to release you." Cathy mumbled an agreement, and King proceeded with his dialogue. "As soon as you are freed, we will get married and set up that practice in the country that I have been wanting to do for some time."  
  
Cathy had been nodding amicably at his remarks until he got to the word, "country." Suddenly, she began to sputter in protestation. "But Martin, you promised that we could move to Africa when we were married!"  
  
"Yes, I know, but people in our own country need doctors just as much as the Africans. Can you tell me how many of your acquaintances actually go to a doctor each year? The number is very slim, so it's imperative that I stay here to make sure our fellowmen are treated."  
  
"At least there are doctors the English can go to when they are sick. The Africans have no one except for their Witch Doctors, who can hardly qualify as a physician."  
  
"I don't know the language, though," insisted King.  
  
"I told you I would teach you the many dialects, so you have no excuse for wanting to stay here except for your obstinacy!"   
  
"I hardly think this is the time to discuss my stubbornness. You're on the verge of possibly being executed and you're complaining about trivial matters."  
  
Mrs. Gale slowly counted to three, trying hard not to lose her patience. She managed to say quite decorously, "Martin, though you are trying your hardest to comfort me, I don't think you're doing a very good job under these particular circumstances. I would be very much obliged if you would leave."  
  
Dr. King stared at her as if she had just told him her husband was alive. "What did you say?"  
  
Catherine Gale rolled her blue eyes. "Stand up from your chair, walk to the door, open it, and leave the jailhouse."  
  
Martin King burst into a nervous titter. "For a moment, I thought you were serious."  
  
"It may surprise you, but I am as serious as I've ever been." Cathy glared furiously at her oblivious beau. "Get out OF HERE!"   
  
Rising slowly to his feet, King stomped crossly from the building. Much to her sudden delight, Dr. Gale was prodded back into her solitary confinement. It was only when she was locked back in her cell that she realised just how utterly alone she was feeling.   
  
Everyone she trusted had betrayed her. First Steed, then King, and even Emma and Tara had lied to her when they were talking of Basil's "laryngitis." Cathy was not an emotional woman, but at that moment she was the most depressed she had ever been. Placing her head in her hands, she began to weep agonizing tears. She cried for an hour, until the tears wouldn't flow anymore. Then she curled up on her soiled cot and shut her eyes tightly.   
  
She was just dozing off to sleep when she heard Basil speaking to a convict. "See that beautiful woman over there? She's in the same plight as I'm in, framed for a murder she didn't commit and by the same man, I'm sure of it. I'm afraid 'death by gun shot' is written all over this case just like it is for me, unless somebody gets us out of this scrape."  
  
Cathy shivered, but she knew it wasn't because the cell was damp. Creighton-Latimer thought they were going to be executed! "I have to get to the bottom of this mystery before it's too late!" Mrs. Gale murmured desperately to herself.   
  
************  
  
Cathy awoke at 10:30 p.m., feeling extremely desolate. She didn't know why until she realised she was in a jail cell, awaiting the charges for a murder she hadn't committed. She arose despondently from her cot and glanced over at the Basil's cell. Two bright eyes peered at her through the darkness!   
  
Cathy resisted the impulse to scream in fright and sprang over to the barred doors. She soon realised it was just Mr. Creighton Latimer. Gritting her teeth at being frightened by the harmless Basil, Cathy gripped the iron bars with all her might.  
  
"Come on, pull the iron bars apart!" shouted a familiar voice. Somehow the lead doors that sealed the jail cells off from the visiting area and the police office had been left ajar, and now John Steed stood near Cathy's chamber.  
  
Emma followed her husband into the room, remarking as playfully as she could muster, "You've got some distinguished visitors awaiting for your presence, Mrs. C. Gale."   
  
A warden pushed past the Steeds to open Mrs. Gale's cell. His swarthy biceps bulged from underneath his suit. As he unlocked the cell door, Cathy could see each individual muscle that was working at the moment. The warden ushered Dr. Gale and the Steeds into the criminals' visitors' section. Clicking his keys back in place on his belt, he bellowed to John and Emma, "Get back in the office, you troublemakers, or you ain't going see your friend. This area is restricted for the criminals and wardens only. You go behind them glass windows on the other side." He pointed at the unfriendly glass that looked like the window at a ticket booth except there was wire over the glass.  
  
"If it's not all the same to you," Mrs. Peel started, "we want to see Mrs. Gale's whole face when we talk to her. We don't want any crisscross wires making our interview unsociable."  
  
"We want to reach out and touch her hand, let her know that were there for her," Steed added, gesticulating in a melodramatic way. But the warden would have none of their protests and pushed them into the office and into two chairs.  
  
"Why are you here?" Mrs. Gale demanded once Steed and Mrs. Peel were situated around the glass.   
  
"We want to help you in this situation," Emma replied, taken aback by Mrs. Gale's uncivil behaviour.   
  
"So the liars have suddenly come to their senses?" Frowning severely, Cathy looked at her friends' sympathetic faces.   
  
"Listen, it's true we lied to you, but I had no idea that the killer would hit again," Steed protested defensively. "As the old saying goes, 'Lightening never strikes twice.'"  
  
"Well, lightening does strike twice, and so did the murderer," Cathy snapped. She sighed and added, "I'm sorry I'm so cross, but this is not a very pleasant situation." Suddenly she noticed that one of her associates was missing. "Why isn't Tara with you two?"  
  
"Miss King is here and at your service," came a jovial voice. Tara stepped from her hiding place behind Steed. Her complexion was wan but she was trying to appear brave. Tara eyed her young friend wearily before sitting in the seat that Emma had so cordially pulled up for her.  
  
Mrs. Gale's spirits were renewed by Tara's trust, but she decided to hide her feelings under a veneer of complacency. She didn't want Steed to think he was forgiven, not yet anyway. Cathy asked casually, "What took you so long to get here?"  
  
Mrs. Steed opened her mouth, but John butted in, "I had to return to London to pick up Tara and Emma. While we were at home, Mitchell called to say that Fran's sister heard about the death and was anxious to have the killer terminated." Steed clamped his mouth shut and groaned. "I don't think you wanted to hear that!"   
  
Cathy nodded peevishly, her brain working at a frightening speed. "What did Miss Minolta's sister look like?"  
  
"Oh, Mitchell described her as a cute little red head with brown eyes." Steed glanced askance at a female spy who was busy filing papers at a file cabinet nearby the visiting quarters.  
  
Thinking that the red head might be the real murderess, Dr. Gale's stomach churned. She decided to stop thinking of such dismal things. "So, how did you manage to sneak into the 'off limits' area?"  
  
"We had the help of that vision of loveliness who's filing those papers." Steed nodded in the direction of the female agent, who immediately turned in his direction. Steed winked at her in his smooth sort of way, which made the woman giggle like a schoolgirl.   
  
"It's good to know I haven't lost my touch." Steed leaned back in his chair, sighing with satisfaction. Emma remained silent, knowing that scolding her husband would lead to a pointless dispute.  
  
"Mrs. Gale," Tara began tentatively, "do you have any idea who committed the crime?"  
  
"No, but I'm almost certain he is the same person who framed Basil." Then Cathy explained everything she remembered from her experience at the Penney Estate, starting at when Steed claimed he had seen Fran Minolta before. She told them how Fran had blue eyes one moment and the next minute, she had brown. Cathy also described the man in black with the antique revolver. By the time she finished her dialogue all the Avengers were deep in contemplation.  
  
"Mother said he had been shot by an antique revolver!" John Steed commented.  
  
"So we definitely know it's the same man," Emma announced.  
  
Cathy was intrigued by their information, but she knew this was not going to help the situation. She expressed her feelings very frankly, which made the Avengers fall silent.   
  
Mrs. Gale leaned forward in her chair so that she was as close to the window as possible. "I think Fran's double committed the crime, but I don't know how to prove that!" Cathy scanned the jail, hoping an inspiration would come upon her. "I'm certain that there was something in the mansion that would prove my innocence and solve this mystery." Cathy sighed despondently and turned to her friends for aid and advice.   
  
Steed smiled ruefully before scooting his chair closer to the window. "Well somehow I don't think the bailiffs would allow you to go visit the scene of the crime." Emma brushed a piece of her brown hair out of her face, a habit that had been with her for most of her life. Tara just cleared her throat in a nervous manner.  
  
Cathy's eyes wandered aimlessly until they rested on the beautiful woman agent. She almost cracked a smile when she recollected Steed's amazing persuasive power that had made the spy obey his every whim. That's when she devised a brilliant plan. "Steed, how long do you think that female spy remains at the jail?"  
  
Steed stopped ogling the spy long enough to answer, "I don' know her work schedule, but I suppose she stays until five like most people at their jobs."   
  
"Would she stay over time if you asked her?" Dr. Gale asked slowly and deliberately.   
  
"Unless it's vitally important, I'd prefer if Steed didn't ask her anything," Emma retorted.   
  
"Well, if she let you two into the 'off limits' area so eagerly the first time, she would most likely do it again at midnight. While she's performing that little task, maybe she would let a prisoner out of the cells." Cathy Gale let these words sink into the other Avengers' brains.  
  
"You mean," Tara began, thinking as she spoke, "you want that spy to sneak us into the 'off limits area' again so we can let you out and then take you to Penney Estate?" Cathy merely nodded solemnly in reply.  
  
"It won't work, ladies," John Steed interjected dismally. "The door to the area where you are being held had been slightly ajar when we arrived. All that secret agent had to do was distract anyone near the door, and then we entered with ease. That door, when properly shut, is always locked."  
  
Cathy groaned in frustration, running a finger through her curled, blonde hair. She glared angrily at the warden, who had his arms crossed menacingly across his chest. Something glistening caught her attention, and she realised with delight what had caught her eyes, namely the keys on the warden's belt.   
  
Mrs. Gale whispered very quietly to her companions, "I bet that warden has all the keys to the jail." See pointed at the belt, and Emma, Tara, and John all made sounds of admiration at her quick observation. "Come back at midnight, tonight, and you'll be able to get me out of here in no time."  
  
Emma's look of approval vanished as she listened to Cathy's discourse. "Excuse me, but how are we supposed to get the keys from him? Not only is he on the inside and we on the outside, but I'm pretty sure he wouldn't hand them over if we paid him a thousand pounds." Mrs. Peel stared at Cathy, expecting a reasonable answer.  
  
"You'll lure him out with a decoy," was Cathy's simple response. "Now, who's volunteering to be the bait?" All eyes rested on Tara, who stared down at herself to see if anything was the matter.   
  
Suddenly she understood their stares. "Why is it whenever you need a person to distract somebody, you turn to me?" Tara asked impatiently, shaking her head of short, dark brown hair.  
  
"Because you're liable to distract anybody even if you were trying your hardest not to," John responded debonairly. "What man could resist your beauty and grace?"  
  
"I can think of one man to start with," Tara quipped, "You!"  
  
"Why, I'm a married old man!" Steed insisted.  
  
"Is that why you were flirting with that gorgeous spy?" Emma asked sarcastically.  
  
Steed was about to make a protestation of some kind, when Cathy, somewhat annoyed at the meaningless quibbling, added, "You're the best actor of all of us, Tara, so you could think of the better things to do to get the warden's attention." Seeming to forget the Steeds' candid remarks, Tara flashed a satisfied smile from her pink lips.  
  
Nearby a sentry bellowed, "Your visiting time is over!"   
  
All the Avengers exchanged panicked glances before Emma Peel replied, "All right, we heard you!" Then she turned to Cathy to say, "We'll be here at midnight, Mrs. Gale; don't worry." Steed and Miss King made similar reassurances to Cathy, and then the warden pushed them out of the room, mumbling something about, "staying overtime."  
  
Later that night, Cathy couldn't help beseeching as she lay on her cot, "Please don't be long, Mr. and Mrs. Steed and Tara, or I might fall asleep." That was the last thing she remembered before she drifted into a restless slumber.   
  
  
To Be Continued! 


	5. Fourth Day

Fourth Day  
  
Tara and Mr. and Mrs. Steed traveled to a motel, where they rented one room to take an hour-long nap. There were two beds, so the Steeds occupied one, and Tara slept in the other. All were in their clothes, partly so they could make a quick exit when it was time, and partly because they hadn't brought any apparel besides what they were wearing.   
  
All too soon, the annoying alarm clock woke the three. Tara moaned in aggravation as she rose to her feet. She trudged to the washroom, where she splashed cold water in her face to wake her up. Looking at the mirror, her light blue eyes perceived a terrifying sight. Her long-sleeved, bright pink dress with the turtleneck collar was wrinkled from being slept in. She smoothed the miniskirt as best as she could before returning to the bedroom.  
  
Emma and Steed were immersed in a quiet conversation. They seemed to be going over the itinerary. Tara cleared her throat loudly, and they looked up at her. "I'm as awake and ready as I'll ever be," she declared.  
  
Mrs. Peel nodded as she rose from the queen-sized bed she had been perched on. Her dark blue cat suit with the white stripes down the sides was also crumpled. She adjusted the large zipper that ran down the front with another white stripe. Emma sauntered over to where her white heelless boots were sitting and pulled them onto her feet.  
  
Then the trio hopped into Steed's green Bentley and drove to the spy prison. Once they reached the electric fence that enclosed the penitentiary, they faced another dilemma. "How are we going to enter the compound?" Tara inquired the starry sky. She examined the ten-foot fence with sheer contempt in her long-lashed eyes.  
  
"Well, last time the guard at the tollhouse opened a gate for us, but somehow I don't think he'll let us enter now that it's midnight," Steed replied.  
  
"As it is, we had to get Mother's permission to visit Mrs. Gale at ten thirty," Emma added.  
  
"First, let's see if the electric fence is even working." Steed cautiously approached the barbwire and tossed the pointed metal end of his umbrella at it. The fence sizzled at the impact of the brolly; then an alarm sounded through the cold, night air.  
  
Before they could be detected, Steed, Mrs. Peel, and Miss King scurried to the automobile, which Steed hastily drove behind a cluster of trees. A night watchman dashed over to investigate the fence. He sighed in exasperation when he spotted an unidentifiable burning object-Steed's brolly! Removing his jacket, he pounded it down on the fire, managing to put it out. The guard returned to his post at the tollhouse.  
  
Once the coast was clear, Steed and his female counterparts emerged from their hiding place. "I guess we know that the electric fence is still working," Emma remarked.   
  
Tara nonchalantly removed a bobby pin from her curly hair and flicked it at the fence. The alarm immediately began to wail again, much to the utter glee of Miss King. She motioned for her two perplexed friends to follow her. They swiftly made their way to conceal themselves behind the bare and gnarled oak trees.   
  
"That alarm is the Super Sensitive and Safe System for Spies," Tara whispered in revelation. "It's one of the worst systems in the entire country! A thing as tiny as a fly-"  
  
"Or a bobby pin, in your case-" Steed interjected.  
  
"Will set off the alarm. It has been banned by most secret agent outlets, so I wonder why we are still using it!" Tara shook her head before motioning for the Steeds to remain quiet.  
  
The same irritated watchman came to examine the electric fence. Finding nothing on fire, he lazily traveled back to his post.   
  
Miss Tara King sneaked up to the fence once more to create havoc. She removed from her purse a tube of lipstick enclosed in gold plated silver. Tara applied a coat to her pale lips before dropping it on the electrified fence. Then she scampered over to a pile of bushes off to the right of the clump of oaks.   
  
Steed and Emma decided that this time when the guard came to investigate, they would creep over to the entrance by the tollhouse and get inside the compound. In less than a minute, the truly irate sentinel was surveying the area. Grabbing Mrs. Peel's hand, Steed hurried into the tollhouse. He searched only a short while before he found a red button that opened the thick gate. Steed smiled as he pressed the large button.   
  
Meanwhile, Mrs. Steed was searching in the booth for the lever that inactivated the electric fence. Just as Steed found his button, she found hers. She pulled the lever with all her might then she and Steed sneaked into the driveway right before the gate shut behind them.  
  
The sentry began searching behind each oak tree for the intruder. All he discovered was Steed's Bentley, which conveniently had stopped running, making it look like its driver had abandoned it there until he could return with help. The guard retuned to his station, muttering maledictions that would make a sailor blush.  
  
Tara snatched another pin from her hair to use on the fence, but when she tossed it at the barbwire, nothing happened. Upon realising that someone must have turned the electricity off, Miss King began to climb the tall fence. It was difficult work, but somehow she managed to get to the top. There she was faced with another bewildering predicament. The barbwire at the top of the fence would surely massacre her if she tried to climb over. Clinging onto the fence, Tara came to a clever conclusion.   
  
As silently as she could, she began inching her way to the left, closer to the tollhouse. She knew the fence ended right next to the little hut, so if she could just make it without being caught, she could drop down on the house. The task was painstaking, but she knew this was her only option now that she couldn't make the alarm go off.  
  
Meanwhile, the guard in the booth noticed that the lever for the electric fence had been turned off. He knew he hadn't switched it off, so someone else must have. He bounded out of the building to have a look around the grounds again for the prowler.  
  
Tara's high-heeled boot slipped on the thin wire, almost causing her to plummet to her death. She gripped onto the fence, standing perfectly still until her heartbeat returned to normal. She sidestepped several more times and arrived at the tollhouse.   
  
At intervening time, the watchman passed under her to enter the booth. He approached the lever that directed the electricity to the fence, intent on being undisturbed from his chore.  
  
Deftly, Tara lowered herself onto the slanted roof of the tollbooth. She gently sat down on the shingles before she slid off the roof unto the ground. At that instant, a loud buzzing sound filled her alert ears. She realised with a tremendous amount of gravity that the electric fence had been turned back on. If she had waited a second more to jump from the fence, she would have been shocked to death!   
  
Miss King glided off the roof and abruptly crouched down in case there was a window where the guard could spy her. She crawled on her hands and knees all the way up the gravel driveway, stones cutting her nylons and making her bleed. Finally she stepped into the secret agent prison where she nearly collapsed in Steed's waiting arms. She swallowed several times before mumbling, "I almost got electrocuted, but I'm all right."  
  
Steed patted her back consolingly as he stated, "That lovely spy's name is Lola Anderson, Agent 73. She and Mrs. Peel have devised a plan that rivals my own."  
  
"What was your idea, Steed?" Emma asked curiously as they walked into the police office.  
  
Steed opened his mouth then promptly shut it. "Come to think of it, I never even had a plan to start with."  
  
"Well, you're a brave and smart anyway even if you can't think of any wonderful ideas," Emma soothed.  
  
Steed didn't have time to response, for a surly warden appeared in the office, standing next to the metal door that led to the visiting area. "How did you get into this building?" the sentry growled ferociously.  
  
"I never left for home this evening, so I've been hiding here since 5:00 p.m. When these three spies came back to the prison, I let them in," was Lola's meek reply.   
  
"Now you've done it!" groaned John Steed. Before the warden could make some malicious retort, Lola let out an ear-piercing scream.   
  
In her cell, Cathy awoke suddenly to Miss Anderson' screeching. Mrs. Gale bolted out of her bed, and, upon further investigation, realised it was only the exquisite female agent who had emitted those horrible screams. The reason she was screaming was an enigma to Cathy Gale, but she hoped it was part of their scheme.  
  
Even though Mrs. Gale didn't know what was going on among her partners in crime fighting, she could hear the sentry bellow, "Hey, leave those papers alone, lady, or I'll have you thrown in here with your friend!"  
  
If Cathy could have seen what mischief her friends were creating in the office, she would have seen Tara pulling papers out of a filing cabinet, while Emma and John casually walked around the room pulling chairs out from underneath the desks and knocking them on their sides.  
  
Tara smiled innocently before exclaiming, "There's all lot of interesting information in this cabinet!" She pulled out a drawer and dumped all its contents on the floor. Lola gave a gasp of dismay at witnessing all her hard work being thrown on the floor, but her protest wasn't heard over the loud curses of the sentry.  
  
"What the bloody deuce are you trying to do?" The warden opened the cast iron door of the criminal visiting area, leaving it slightly ajar. He lunged at Tara, who had just enough time to open another drawer, causing the sentry to run into the drawer. Doubling over in pain, he collapsed onto the floor.  
  
Mrs. Peel, Steed, and Tara approached the now inert body of the sentry. Steed cautiously removed his steel-rimmed bowler from his dark hair and brought it down on the warden's head. Having rid the Avengers of any more danger, Steed sent his wife in search of some rope.  
  
"Hurry, he's reviving already," Tara cried. "While we've still got the chance, let's grab his keys and lock him in one of the jail cells."  
  
"That's an excellent suggestion, Tara," Steed responded. "You should be congratulated on your stroke of brilliancy.   
  
"I guess it proves that brains and beauty go together like peaches and cream," piped Lola Anderson.  
  
"Or like biscuits and sherry," Steed offered.  
  
"Or brollies and bowler hats." Emma Peel pointed to Steed's prized possessions.   
  
"No, brains and beauty go together like Steed and Peel," Tara spoke quietly. Nobody could think of a better comparison than hers.  
  
The four secret agents returned to their main purpose. Having found no rope, Emma ordered desperately, "Help me lift this heavy muscleman." She tugged at one of the bulging biceps of the warden until the other two Avengers came to her aid.  
  
Steed informed her that he would not let her carry the man in her condition, but Emma insisted she could do it. An argument would have ensued if Lola did not offer to help Steed and Tara with the warden.  
  
As the three spies dragged him into the visiting room, Emma commented seriously, "We had better hurry if we're going to get Mrs. Gale to Penney Estate before dawn."  
  
Tara moaned in pain, her arms looking like they would pop from their sockets from the monstrous weight of the man. "He's the sort of man you would expect to see lifting two tons at the side show of a circus!"  
  
"I wish we were at the circus right now; it would be a whole lot safer." Steed grimaced as they came to the iron door that led to the jail cells. He fumbled with the ring of keys that was hooked around his belt until he found the one that unlocked the door. Then the secret agents pulled the man down the hall and into an empty cell.  
  
While they were setting the sentry comfortably on the cot, he began to revive. Emma quickly chopped him on the nape of his neck, grabbed the keys on the warden's key ring, and dashed over to Cathy's cell.   
  
After Emma had found the right key and unlocked the door, Cathy whispered, "Thanks for rescuing me, Mrs. Steed. By the way, I've forgiven you all."   
  
As the door to the sentry's jail cell clicked shut, Tara King said triumphantly, "You won't be bullying me any more, Mr. Muscles."   
  
The five spies ran by the threatening sentry, barely managing to hold back their grins of relief.   
  
Once in the office with all the desks and file cabinets, Miss Anderson began filing the papers that had been scattered all over the floor. "I was certain the warden would kill us!"  
  
"We're too clever for him," John Steed crowed pompously. Catherine, Emma, and Tara exchanged amused glances.   
  
"Do you need my help anymore?" Lola asked politely.  
  
"No, but if I ever happen to be in town again, I'll be sure to look you up," Steed replied earnestly.   
  
"That's fine with me; just look under the name of Lola Anderson." The secretary waved sexily at the Steed before blowing him a kiss.  
  
"What a wonderful woman!" Steed rubbed his hands together eagerly. Feeling a light tap on his shoulder, he whirled around to face his wife.  
  
"This wonderful woman thinks it time we head to Penney Estate." Emma tried to look disgusted by his flirtatious mannerisms, but she only barely succeeded. She was fully confident that whenever her husband flirted, he meant nothing by it and would always love her.  
  
"Yes, all three of us wonderful women would like to go," Tara interjected emphatically.  
  
Steed took this subtle hint and escorted the three ladies out the door.   
  
"I hate to be a pessimist, but how do we get pass the security guard at the gate?" Emma Peel queried.  
  
Steed was about to answer, when the watchman, as if on cue, tackled Steed to the ground. Tara wasted no time in hitting the nemesis in the arm with her pink purse. This met with little effect since she did not have her trusty brick inside. The man rose to his feet, ready to attack the angered Tara.  
  
Emma powerfully kicked him in the stomach, while Cathy judo chopped him on the neck. He cussed at the two ladies before striking Emma across her beautiful face. Mrs. Steed's vision reeled from the impact and she collapsed near her sprawled husband.  
  
Steed was infuriated beyond capable description. The guard had just injured his pregnant wife, making her dizzy and nauseous. In a fit of indignant rage, he hopped up from the ground, punched the guard in the nose, boxed his ears, and cuffed his chin. In retaliation, the wounded watchman twisted Steed's nose in an unhealthy position.  
  
Mrs. Gale kicked the man from behind, causing him to fall atop of Steed! Fortunately, the guard had let go of Steed's nose before he could break it, something that happened to John Steed's nose quite often. Cathy pushed her stiletto-heeled shoe into the man's back, slowly applying more pressure. The guard whimpered like an abuse puppy and tried to wriggle out of Dr. Gale's firm hold.   
  
Tara, who had gone to the aid of Mrs. Steed, shouted, "She's reviving, Steed!"  
  
Steed groped around for his brown bowler before approaching his dazed wife. He was beckoned away again when Cathy commanded, "Use your bowler to knock the watchman unconscious."   
  
Steed hurriedly complied the fervent request then dashed to Emma's side. "Do you think you can make it to Penney Estate?" he gently asked her.  
  
"I've received much worse injuries to my face before," Mrs. Peel promptly replied.   
  
"It's the baby that I'm worried about," Steed persisted.  
  
"John Wickham Gascoyne Beresford Steed is worried about something?" Emma asked in mocked amazement. "Either the world must be coming to an end, or I just imagined it all."  
  
Steed pretended to be offended as he said, "A gentleman always worries for the welfare of a lady." At these words, Cathy Gale scoffed in disbelief.   
  
"Well Mrs. Gale," began Tara in defense of the spy she loved, "what man do you know wears a three piece suit and bowler and is not considered a gentleman?"  
  
It took just a moment for Dr. Gale to reply curtly, "I know only one man: John Steed."  
  
The four spies climbed into the hidden Bentley, but to their dismay, it wouldn't start! Steed nervously revved the engine several times but to no avail. Finally Emma, being the vehicle expert that she was, hopped out of the car to have a look at the engine.   
  
"It stalled, so all we have to do is jumpstart it," she informed the expectant undercover agents.  
  
"How, pray tell, are we going to accomplish that?" Miss King questioned as politely as she could muster.  
  
"Well, under these circumstances, we can't," sighed Mrs. Peel. She meditated for a short duration before ordering, "Try starting the car once more."  
  
Steed went through the long and cumbersome procedure of starting his vintage Bentley. Miraculously, the engine began to run, purring like a content kitten. "I knew I should have taken my Rolls Royce!" Steed cried as he shifted into drive.   
  
"Hopefully, it will make it to Penney Estate in one piece," Mrs. Gale remarked pointedly, showing how displeased she was with the getaway car. Steed merely chuckled tensely in response.  
  
  
To Be Continued! 


	6. First Afternoon, all right it's not real...

First Afternoon  
  
It was half past one in the morning when the Avengers drove up to the wrought iron gates of Penney Estate. They all took one look at their newest predicament and moaned.   
  
Steed scowled fiercely at Mrs. Gale as he hissed, "Since we can't use the telephone in the red booth to call the house to have someone open the gates for us, how do you suggest we get inside?"  
  
"Well, you haven't come up with any brilliant ideas tonight, so why don't you use your minute brain to think of something?" barked Cathy.  
  
"Certain people in this car are in desperate need of sleep," Tara hinted delicately.   
  
Emma merely ignored the many insults her husband and Dr. Gale were espousing and stepped out of the vehicle. She lazily placed one slender hand on the gates. Not to her surprise, the gates swung wide open, their rusting hinges creaking with every inch.  
  
The deafening noise brought Steed and Gale's arguing to a complete standstill. "Somebody forgot to lock the gates," Mrs. Peel explained to her thunderstruck companions.  
  
"I have the vaguest suspicion that the unlocked gate was no accident; it's has to be a trap," Steed declared crossly.  
  
"Do you have a better idea?" Cathy retorted.   
  
Steed remained in a silent sulk, indicating he had not the slightest notion what to do. They approached Penney Estate, each hoping that Mother would not notice four predators outside his office.   
  
Cathy spoke first, "There's an entrance in the back of this house that leads into the kitchen. I think that would be the safest place to enter."  
  
The other spies didn't ask any questions, but willingly followed their friend's actions. Once they were safely in the kitchen, the tension eased off a tiny smidgen. They took in their surroundings carefully, once again praying nobody would notice anything.  
  
Suddenly Tara opened the kitchen cupboard and then the refrigerator. "Would you have a look at this, Steed?" she nearly shouted. Her companions almost strangled her out of fear for their lives. Why was Tara talking so loudly making it easy for Mother or some other agent to discover them?  
  
"I suggest we take cover!" Dr. Gale hissed urgently to the Steeds as she ducked behind the kitchen counter. Mrs. Peel found shelter in the large pantry Tara had found, while John Steed dove under the kitchen table. But Tara stood where she was, peering into the lit refrigerator.   
  
"It's all right; the door I opened leads to the icebox." Miss King smiled triumphantly while gesturing toward the open door.   
  
"And why should that make us happy, Tara?" Mrs. Gale asked almost inaudibly. She gazed around in the darkness, wondering if each large bulky object she saw was Mother. Her eyes were still not accustomed to the darkness that hovered over them all like a heavy shroud.   
  
"There is no food in the fridge, so obviously Mother has moved to a new office." Tara slammed the door for emphasis, and then, before her associates' horrified eyes, she yelled at the top of her lungs, "Someone come into the kitchen and arrest me!"   
  
Cathy, Emma, and John made a madcap dash for the door to the outside, but after several minutes of complete silence, they realised that either Mother was dead or not there. To help them investigate better, Miss Tara flipped on a light switch.   
  
Mrs. Gale motioned to her fellow accomplices to follow her into the dining room. Once they were assembled, she pointed to a spot on the rug and whispered, "This is where I found the corpse." Dr. Gale took them through all the rooms she had been in on that fateful day, explaining what occurred in each. Tara King managed to flip on every light switch she found until the whole house was illuminated.   
  
After she finished the tour, Cathy Gale announced, "I'm going to search some of the rooms I haven't been in before. You examine the rooms I've already been in, in case I overlooked an important clue." Without another word, she dashed down the hallway.   
  
Emma scratched her head thoughtfully as she surveyed the formal parlour. "I would investigate that candlestick for one thing. I mean, why did Fran even bring it out?"  
  
Steed shook his head in relative amusement at what he deemed was a ridiculous question. "She got the candlestick so she could protect herself from the people who were coming to kill her." He lifted the candlestick from the little table it had been perched on. "See, she said that she was going to dust it, but what respectable spy performs such a menial task?" Tossing the candlestick to Mrs. Steed, who he was sure was competent to catch it, he turned to gaze at the fragmented mirror, a clue much more vital to solving the case, or at least in his opinion.  
  
Tara outstretched her arms toward Emma. "May I look at it, please?" Mrs. Peel shrugged and handed it over to the young woman.  
  
Miss King inspected the item, fascinated by the gold-plated silver. She wondered why such a large, elegant, and clearly expensive piece should way so little. She turned the stick upside-down to scrutinize the base. After a brief observation, Tara realised that the candlestick was hollow.   
  
Tara excitedly remembered how she had discovered a note in the bottom of Mrs. Peel's lamp when she was trying to Steed with a mystery. Maybe something very similar was tucked away in the candlestick! She attempted to remove the base so she could have a look inside, but try as she might she could not. Before Steed or Emma could stop the impetuous spy, Tara rammed the candlestick against the marble floor.   
  
"Tara, in all my days of working with you, I have never witnessed anything quite as idiotic as what you did now!" Steed cried in annoyance over the cacophony of silver clattering on the hard, shiny floor.   
  
After the terrible clamor subsided, Tara retrieved the candlestick. Just as she had hoped, the bottom fell off into her slender hands. Without saying a word, Miss King pointed to the inside of the candlestick.   
  
Emma finally grabbed it from her silent and impulsive friend. She stared at the inside in evident astonishment, but she regained composure to turn the candlestick right side up. A wrinkled piece of paper fluttered onto the floor.  
  
Steed gaped incredulously and whistled. "I guess I misjudged you, Tara, and I hope you'll forgive me."  
  
"Your apology is accepted, Steed," proclaimed the beaming Tara King.  
  
"I wonder what this letter says?" Mrs. Peel mused aloud, excitement surging through her veins. She was about to read the letter but checked herself to gaze at Miss King. "You read it, for after all, you discovered this secret."  
  
Tara couldn't suppress the wild grin that spread across her youthful face. The note read as follows:  
  
To Whom It May Concern:   
  
I know why Basil was framed for murder, and why Mrs. Gale is about to have the same fate. It seems this agent wants revenge on John Steed and certain other persons for undisclosed reasons. It's not very helpful information, I'll admit. I wish I knew more so that I could help whoever is reading this note.  
  
As it is, my knowing this little has put me in grave danger. He wants to kill me! He has my sister on his side, too! She fell for his charm, just as many girls before her d *  
  
I cannot write anymore! I hear their footsteps coming closer. If I die, I hope it is nobly like any death of a spy should be. I pray someone finds my letter and solves this mystery. I know I would, if I had the chance . . .  
  
Fran Minolta, Agent 114  
  
  
"She didn't have a chance to tell us who is behind the murders," Tara concluded.  
  
"I don't know about you, but I've got to go to sleep. If I don't nap, I will be useless in hunting out clues." John Steed plopped onto an ornate sofa, beckoning for Emma to join him. Emma Peel shook her head, so Tara took this as an invitation for her to sit down by him. Steed seemed surprise, but he made no comment.   
  
"You're just going to let Mrs. Gale investigate for clues by herself?" Mrs. Steed demanded.   
  
"She's a very smart and capable woman. Why do you think I asked her to help me with my cases?" Steed thought that answer was sufficient, but Emma did not.  
  
"As soon as the night watchman and the guard inside the jail revive, they will start looking for her, and this will be the first place they'll search!" Before anyone could answer her, Mrs. Peel flounced out of the room.   
  
She peered in every corner of the dining room with no luck. She returned to the parlour to check on the two tired spies. The sound of peaceful breathing floated over to Emma, indicating that they were asleep.  
  
Mrs. Peel sighed, running her hand through her shoulder length, brown hair. She sat down next to the reposing duo and shut her eyes. The baby and she were in desperate need of sleep. She'd only rest for a moment then she would help Cathy. She kept repeating this to herself to stay awake, but her weathered body soon won over her strong mind.   
  
Poor Mrs. Gale, searching thoroughly in every room, did not know her friends were napping. She continued her investigation, assured that the three other Avengers were looking in the other rooms.   
  
Unlike Tara, Mrs. Gale did not turn on every light she came upon. Instead she carried a torch she had found in a large broom closet. Cathy cautiously sneaked into Mother's study, and what she saw made her blood run cold. Sitting at an exquisitely carved desk was a man, who appeared to be very much awake! Since the light from the torch was not ample enough to distinguish any features on the man, Catherine wasn't certain if she knew him or not.  
  
Dr. Gale tried not to cry out in frustration, but her attempts seemed futile. Would she ever be able to prove her innocence if she was sent back to prison by this stranger? Cathy approached the person at the desk silently. Maybe she could sneak up and knock the person out, but he most likely already saw her. It wouldn't be much of a surprise attack.  
  
Mrs. Gale backed out of the room, hoping she had not been noticed. Unfortunately, the minute her back was turned, a light was turned on, temporarily blinding her. Once her eyes were adjusted to the brightness, Cathy perceived Rhonda walking slowly over to the desk where Mother sat!  
  
"Mrs. Gale, you've finally arrived," Mother commented serenely.  
  
Though she was petrified beyond comprehension, Cathy tried to make her voice sound tranquil as she exclaimed, "You were expecting me to break out of jail with the help of Steed?"  
  
"Well, I know you aren't the criminal just like they do. Naturally, you would come to the scene of the crime to find evidence that would prove your innocence."  
  
"We thought you had found a new office. Tara discovered that the icebox was empty, so was naturally concluded that you had left."  
  
"That's exactly what a wanted you to think! Tara fell for my trap as planned."  
  
"Miss King will not be too appreciative of that remark," Dr. Gale coolly told the obese man.  
  
"She did her job as a secret agent superbly; she can't help it that I'm more devious than she. I'm not the head of the ministry just for my age or disability!"   
  
"So the gates being unlocked were not just a coincidence," Cathy deliberated.   
  
"That is a most adept observation. I can see why Steed occasionally uses you as his partner." Mother wheeled around the desk in order to talk directly to Ms. Gale's face. "Have you found anything of vital importance?"  
  
"If I had, do you think I would still be here?" was the blunt reply.  
  
"Well, you may not have unearthed anything, but Tara and the Steeds have."  
  
"How do you know that?" Cathy demanded skeptically.  
  
"I have security cameras in every room that I can look at in the security office. It's located next door to this study, if you're interested." Mother commanded Rhonda to push him into the adjoining chamber.  
  
As Mrs. Gale followed him, she asked, "Why haven't you been searching for clues?"  
  
"As the chief of the agency, I must remain neutral in cases, not helping either sides gather evidence."   
  
"You could turn me in, though, couldn't you?"  
  
"I could, but only if I had seen you at Penney Estate. And I'm pretending I haven't seen you." Mother stopped his explaining to point at a television screen. "It looks as if your friends are taking a nap."  
  
Cathy gazed at the three other Avengers, sleeping soundly on a plush couch. She sighed in exasperation, thanked Mother for not turning her in, and returned to the parlour. "Are you that bored at the prospect of my being executed?" she snapped as soon as she was in the room.   
  
Emma raised an eyelid slowly, as did Tara, but John remained in a deep slumber. "Who's being killed?" Mrs. Peel garbled sleepily. She yawned and stretched upward like a supple cat. Suddenly the experiences of earlier that night seemed to dawn on her.   
  
She abruptly jumped up and began explaining, "I didn't mean to fall asleep, Mrs. Gale! I kept saying to myself, 'Emma old girl, stay awake. A friend's life is in mortal danger, and if you happen to rest for a moment, she might never be proven innocent.' I-"  
  
"It's all right, Mrs. Steed," Cathy reassured her flustered comrade, softening considerably. "What is this clue you discovered?"  
  
"Oh, you mean the letter I found?" Tara asked in evident surprise. "How did you know about that if you were in another part of the mansion when I found it?"  
  
Mrs. Gale briefly explained her encounter with Mother. "May I please read the letter?" Once she was given the note, she perused it with genuine interest. When she finished, she cogitated aloud, "I've already determined that the colour of Fran's eyes changed because someone who looked considerably like her took her place. The woman who took Fran's place had to be a double if I didn't notice a change in her features. Tell me, what is another name for double?"  
  
"That would be twin!" Emma Peel cried in revelation.  
  
"So Miss Minolta had a twin sister," Tara worked out, "but that doesn't explain why she killed her! Twins are not only very close in appearances but also in their minds and souls. Why would she murder Fran if they had such a connection?"  
  
"In the letter, Fran states that her sister fell for a certain, charming man, an agent who wants to avenge himself or somebody for some wrong we've done," Emma Peel reminded Tara.  
  
"What have we done to incur somebody's wrath?" Tara questioned. "We just follow the law like normal citizens."  
  
"Perhaps the man Fran's twin fell in love with is an enemy agent," Emma suggested.  
  
"Mrs. Steed, could you please wake your husband and ask him if anything suspicion happened while he was at Department S?" Cathy requested. "I've already come to the conclusion that the woman, who called herself Miss Minolta, that Steed saw at Department S was actually Fran's twin. But I need to know if anything else occurred that could link to this murder."  
  
"Well, I know that he was almost blown to bits by the land mines," Mrs. Peel responded.  
  
"That couldn't have been an accident!" Tara exclaimed, recalling her experience with Department S.  
  
Emma went over to nudge Steed, but he would not stir. She asked him gently, "Steed, we need to know what happened at Department S that one day." There was no answer, so she said louder, "John Steed, who was at the D-E-P-A-R-T-M-E-N-T?"  
  
"All the invalid spies," he retorted, obviously barely awake.  
  
Cathy devised a wicked plan, which she immediately put into action. Still clutching the electric torch, she put the bottom up to Steed's head. His eyes popped open at the feeling of the cold object. He turned to see what it was and was greeted with what he assumed was the end of a gun. John Steed sprang to his feet without delay. "What the-" He spotted Mrs. Gale in her light blue skirt and jacket with the white blouse underneath.   
  
"Now, will you please tell us who was at Department S and what occurred? Cathy inquired through clenched teeth.  
  
Steed described the whole event in detail, starting with his conversation with Fran's sister and ending with his discussion with Mrs. Parker, Mitchell, and the conspicuous Harrod. "I'm certain those bombs were set off by Harrod!" Steed concluded.   
  
"And Fran's twin is in league with him," Miss King added.  
  
"Of what age would you take this Mr. Harrod to be?" Cathy inquired, deep in contemplation.  
  
"I'd say around forty years of age with greying hair and round spectacles."  
  
"Was he debonair, amusing, and amiable?" Dr. Gale queried.  
  
"No, he was a nervous man, and Mrs. Parker seemed quite annoyed with him."  
  
"If this is an accurate description of him, how could he possibly be the Man WE'RE LOOKING FOR?" insisted Cathy Gale in a tone that was anything but patient.   
  
"People find love in the strangest places," Steed protested.  
  
"How do you explain this line in the letter?" Cathy snapped. She showed him the sentence, which read, "She fell for his charm, just as many girls before her . . ."  
  
At that moment Mother entered the room, saving Steed from further embarrassment. "The agents from the jail just called me from the red phone booth. They're looking for you, Mrs. Gale. I haven't opened the gate yet, but as soon as I do, they will see Steed's car, and realise you're here. I suggest you take your auto, Steed, and hide it in the back yard. Then come back inside to open the gate for them. Once you've completed that task, join us upstairs."  
  
Steed immediately followed out Mother's proposition. Mother addressed Cathy, saying, "Being a spy with many suspicions, I have a secret room I can hide you four in."  
  
The three women followed Mother and the ever-present Rhonda down the hallway and up a lift that had been installed for Mother's convenience. As she waited for the elevator to reach its destination, Cathy wondered if there really was any clue in the estate, or if she should have given up from the beginning. She knew for certain that she was tired, and it really was time for bed, not investigating.   
  
Now on the second floor, the spies ventured into the first room. It was a bedroom, with a feminine canopy bed. Cathy thought of her comfy bed in her cozy flat, and the idea almost put her to sleep. Then she envisioned the harsh cot in the grungy jail cell. She must follow Mother and hide in the appointed place even if she died of exhaustion. Any death was preferable compared to execution by gunshot or living in a disgusting jail for the rest of her days!   
  
Despite her motivating thinking, she stumbled tiredly into Mother's wheelchair. Mother was scolding Ronda, "Why did you push me into your room? You know the secret passage isn't in here!"  
  
Mother and the four women walked into another bedroom. A plain, hard bed stood before them, a sight that made Cathy wish even more fervently that she could return to her warm and welcoming apartment. The room was the exact same layout as Rhonda's bedroom, except there was different, more masculine furniture. Also there was a fireplace that didn't seem to have a chimney. Finding this extremely suspicious, Mrs. Gale wondered if that was where the secret room was located.  
  
Her suspicions proved valid, for Rhonda wheeled Mother over to the hearth.   
  
He began moving the red bricks around it, pushing at some, prying at others, until suddenly, the fireplace gave way to reveal a dark passageway.   
  
"I thought you said that you couldn't help either side since you have to remain impartial," Cathy remarked to Mother.  
  
"I said I couldn't help either side hunt for clues. I never said I couldn't help one side escape." Mother smiled briefly for a moment before continuing, "Go now, before you are discovered!" Tara impulsively kissed the plump cheek of the aging man, a gesture that seemed to please him exceedingly.   
  
Torch still in hand, Cathy flipped it on and ducked into the room. Tara, Emma, and Steed, who had finished following Mother's instructions, followed. As they crept down the tunnel, they heard the entranceway shut behind them.   
  
Soon they came to a small, tidy room with two cots, blankets, and enough provisions for a year. A square table stood in the center of the room, and in the corner was a personal bar. Steed sighed in relief, glad that he could have his late night, medicinal drink.  
  
Tara spotted a long string coming down from the ceiling, which she pulled accordingly. A bare bulb immediately illuminated the room, causing the Avengers to blink several times until they became accustomed to the light. There was a crude door to their left that undoubtedly led to a washroom.  
  
"Was Mother expecting World War III to start?" Tara asked as she surveyed the dismal setting.   
  
"Why was Mother being so kind to us after brainwashing us several times?" Emma pondered aloud.  
  
"He feels guilty because he knows the reason we're being targeted is because one of his loyal agents doesn't like the fact that we're trying to leave this ministry," Steed pragmatically replied.  
  
"If that's the reason were being framed for murder," began Cathy, her dark eyebrows knitted together, "then Harrod definitely can't be responsible."  
  
"Just out of curiosity, why is that?" Tara asked.  
  
"Because he must be a new recruit, or Steed surely would have recognised him. How can he be angry with us if he wasn't even around when we were defying Mother?" Cathy let this question sink into the tired brains of her colleagues.   
  
"I can't mull over any more puzzles tonight," Miss King moaned.  
  
"Did anyone notice if we were ascending or descending as we went through the tunnel?" Emma inquired, changing the subject in her smooth manner. After receiving shakes of the head from everyone, she continued, "I observed that we were gradually moving up. Mother couldn't have stairs, so he just added a very long ramp. I think we're on the third floor somewhere."  
  
"I was wondering how it was possible to have skylights if we were still on the second story and there was another floor above us." Steed pointed at the two windows in the ceiling.   
  
"I'm sure in the morning it's quite cheery," Cathy began meaningfully, "but maybe we should worry less about our surroundings and more about being caught because we're speaking so loudly."  
  
The four spies thought it would be in everyone's best interest if they just slept. Since there were only two cots, Steed and Emma shared one, while Cathy and Tara shared the other. However, the cots were meant for only one person, so the four spies had to sit upright in order to all fit.  
  
Meanwhile, Mother was tranquilly informing the two incredibly embittered guards from the jail that the escaped convict had not been at his mansion that night.   
  
"Where else would she have gone?" despaired the outside watchman who was in control of the prison's gates.  
  
"Send men to check her flat and the airport to see if she's leaving the country," Mother suggested authoratively. "Now, go back to your posts unless you want everyone in the penitentiary to escape."  
  
The two men cowered before their superior, protesting that they had left two other guards in charge. Mother would have none of their sniveling and had Rhonda push them out the door.  
  
  
To Be Continued! 


	7. Second Night

Second Night  
  
Back in the secret chamber, Emma was having a terrible nightmare. She and Steed were back on Paradisa Island, traversing the beach in a thoughtful silence. They had just reached the resort's property when they spotted Agent Mitchell advancing toward them. Steed and Mrs. Peel immediately whirled around and strolled casually the other way, hoping Mitchell hadn't noticed them. Unfortunately, he had, and soon he was walking aside them.  
  
Strange, nonsensical dialogue was exchanged between the three spies. Then with great precision and quickness, Steed grabbed Mitchell's legs and pulled them out from under him. Mitchell lay on the beach, barely moving, the wind knocked out of him.  
  
Steed and Mrs. Peel hurried in the direction of the resort once more. In a short duration, Mr. Mitchell had dragged himself to his feet and had caught up with the twosome. He pulled on Steed's arm, hindering him from escaping. With powerful surge, he punched Steed squarely in the nose.  
  
Steed returned the gesture by socking him in the breadbasket followed immediately by a strong hit in the jaw. Emma quickly joined the brawl, chopping Mitchell in the neck with a powerful karate stroke.   
  
Mitchell turned upon Mrs. Peel, ready to pounce on the amateur sleuth. He grabbed her wrists, trying his best to twist them fully around. Emma gritted her teeth against the immense amount of pain that seared through her arms.   
  
Up to this point, the dream had been a reenactment of a real fight that had taken place with Mitchell in the Caribbean. The ending changed completely from real life, though. In reality, Mrs. Peel had flipped Mitchell over into the sand, but now in her dream, she was seven months pregnant, not capable of performing that move anymore.   
  
Mitchell laughed menacingly as he continued to twist her arms. Soon her wrists were completely turned around, yet they were not broken. She fell onto the golden sand that was hard like cement. When she had finally struggled to her feet, she discovered the inert body of her darling husband, a large gouge in his back along with three bullet holes. A bloody butcher's knife and an antique revolver lay near the corpse.  
  
Emma screamed in unadulterated horror at her dead husband. Bystanders came by to ask why she had committed such a crime. She claimed no part in the wretched murder and told them about Mitchell, who seemed to have vanished as soon as he had finished his dastardly deed.  
  
The crowd seemed to grow larger every second, each voice scolding her by saying, "Emma, Emma, Emma . . ."  
  
Mrs. Peel attempted to cover her ears but found that her hands were both broken. She tried to point out this fact that she couldn't have possibly have killed anyone in her condition, but the mass of people ignored her. They just continued their insistent clamor of "Emma, Emma, Emma . . ."  
  
Nearby, somewhere in oblivion, the maniacal laughter of Mitchell filled Mrs. Peel's ears. And then there was the unrelenting chorus of "Emma's," drumming in her ears . . .  
  
"Emma, please wake up," Steed entreated his wife.  
  
Emma drowsily opened her eyes and found herself on the cement floor of the secret room, looking up at her husband. Sunlight streamed through the skylights, making Emma aware that it was morning.   
  
Suddenly, she vividly remembered her bloodcurdling nightmare. Without even acknowledging her husband's presence, she cried out in revelation, "Mitchell!"  
  
If Steed was insulted at Emma's screaming the name of a man that wasn't himself, he never showed it. He simply remarked in a playful tone, "So that's who you dream about on cold, lonely nights!"   
  
Emma ignored the excruciating pain in her back from having fallen on the floor in the midst of her terrifying dream. "No, I'm saying Mitchell is behind these two murders." Her comrades stared at her blankly as if she had just told them she was expecting quadruplets. "Mitchell is a suave ladies' man, whose job was to separate Steed and me the last time we were brainwashed. We defeated him, naturally, but he never forgave us."  
  
Cathy intensely recalled seeing a vaguely familiar man talking in the red phone booth outside Penney Estate. The caller, who was obviously Mitchell, must have said the password to get inside the mansion and murder Fran Minolta! She figured that Fran's sister had sneaked inside with Mitchell, ready to disguise herself as Fran. "She's the one who scared me to death with her glistening knives, the one who tried to murder me as well!"  
  
"It certainly would make more sense if Miss Minolta was attracted to Mitchell than if she was infatuated with Harrod," Miss King added. "She could have very easily fallen victim to his charm and assisted him in his depraved scheme."  
  
"Have you had any experience with this rogue?" Steed teased her.  
  
Tara feigned a look of offense before continuing the banter. "Oh Steed, you know you're the only one I've ever loved!" She batted her eyelashes flirtatiously, much to the irritation of Mrs. Gale.  
  
"You may think it's all fun and games, but my life is still on the line!" Mrs. Gale sputtered.  
  
Steed had been smiling until a few seconds ago. Abruptly he exclaimed, "Mitchell couldn't have done the killings! Mother distinctly heard steady footsteps right before he was shot, yet Mitchell has a limp! That's why he was at the convalescent home."  
  
"Isn't it at all possible for Agent Mitchell to fake a limp just so he won't be accused?" Mrs. Steed asked.  
  
"I think that a swine like Mitchell is capable of anything!" ejaculated Miss King  
  
"Really, Tara, such language coming from a lady is most disturbing," Steed reprimanded the young woman.  
  
Tara didn't answer Steed but looked at her super spy watch. "It's ten o'clock in the morning, so I suggest we have some breakfast."  
  
The other Avengers readily agreed and carried out the plan. After an ample meal of fruit, scrambled eggs, and whole-wheat English muffins, the secret agents decided to venture out of their hiding. They traveled down the long tunnel until they reached the end. To their relative astonishment, the fireplace was already opened.  
  
The foursome stepped out of the fireplace and greeted the waiting Mother. "I suggest Mrs. Gale stay in hiding until the whole case is over," was all he said.  
  
"I might as well be in jail than be locked in that room without company or amusement!" Cathy protested.  
  
"We'll call it your punishment for breaking out of a legal establishment," Mother quipped.  
  
"We will be more than happy to pick up a few books for you to read while you're in confinement," Emma offered.  
  
Cathy Gale begrudgingly conceded to this plan. As soon as she had safely returned to her secret room, the three Avengers drove back to London. Steed took them to Dr. Gale's flat to pick gather several books.  
  
"What do you think she will want to read?" Steed questioned as he pressed the hidden mechanism that opened the flat's front door. Emma had installed it when it was her flat, and it appeared Mrs. Gale hadn't removed it.   
  
"Just take the first several books you find," Mrs. Peel called over her shoulder as she entered the apartment. "I'm gathering a bunch of her clothes, so she won't have to be stuck in that straightjacket."  
  
"When did suit coats, blouses, and skirts become straightjackets?" Tara inquired. She seated herself on the brown settee that covered the entire back wall, which was painted in a rather dull shade of green.   
  
"Well, I have five volumes that I think she will find most interesting," Steed announced. He stacked the heavy, hard cover books on the half wall that separated the settee from the entryway.   
  
"Which books did you choose?" Tara asked curiously.  
  
"The first five volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica."  
  
Emma emerged from the bedroom with a black suitcase filled with clothing. "I think this apparel should suffice until Mrs. Gale can be released from seclusion."   
  
"I don't know about you two, but I'm going home and taking a long bubble bath," Miss King declared as she stretched her arms to the ceiling. "I'll talk to you later then." She waved to them before standing up from the settee and exiting the flat.  
  
"Who's going to take these books and clothes to Mrs. Gale?" Steed almost whined.  
  
"We will, but after we rest and change our clothes," Emma Peel replied.  
  
Steed acquiesced, so the two agents returned to their own apartment. They had scarcely been home two hours when the telephone rang. Mrs. Peel answered it, utterly exasperated at this unpleasant interruption from their leisurely luncheon of watercress and ham and cheese sandwiches.   
  
The caller was the ever-serious Mother. He started the conversation with the words, "When an agent dies, his family is notified. Depending on what the agent stated in his will and testament, we either tell the family he was a spy or come up with some other gruesome death. Miss Minolta wanted her relatives to think she was the secretary of a member of parliament and that a Gaslight Ghoul want-to-be stabbed her to death.   
  
"Being the head of the ministry, I always appoint a spy or spies to carry out this delicate task. Would you and Steed be willing to tell the family what terrible misfortune befell Fran?"  
  
Mrs. Steed replied without hesitation, "What is her relatives' address?"   
  
"When you bring the books to Penney Estate, I'll give you all the information you need."  
  
"I didn't know the ministry was running a barter system," Emma remarked dryly. "I also didn't say we would go through with this scheme, but under the circumstances, I think it would be an excellent idea. Maybe we will spot her twin sister while we're there."  
  
"What twin sister? What on earth are you going on about, Mrs. Steed . . . Mrs. Steed?"  
  
Emma impishly hung up the phone before she was forced to explain the whole ordeal to the oblivious Mother. She briefly explained the situation to the questioning Steed.  
  
"No, my dear, I believe you will be breaking the difficult news to the Minoltas by yourself," Steed responded as he finished his ham sandwich. "I'm going to pay Mitchell a cordial visit, you know, see how his leg is healing.   
  
"Is anybody aware of your plans?" Mrs. Peel questioned.   
  
"I was just going to ring up Department S now." Steed made his phone call and scheduled an appointment for three that afternoon. He told the woman who answered the phone that he was Mother. Fortunately, the woman was not the evil Miss Minolta, so she didn't recognise his voice and Steed didn't have to worry about the bombs "accidentally" going off while he was in the field.   
  
"You head over to Mother, whilst I head over to the convalescent home." Steed grabbed his brown bowler that matched his brown three-piece suit perfectly before snatching a black umbrella. He marched resolutely to the green front door and opened it. "We should have this case cracked by tonight with all the villains safely in jail." He stepped into the long hallway that led to the outside.  
  
"And if we don't succeed?" Emma called after him.  
  
"Then expect to find yourself very dead." Steed replied, stepping back into the flat.  
  
Mrs. Steed batted her long eyelashes in a playful manner. "Tell me, which of my clothes is most suitable to be buried in?"   
  
Steed looked like he was about to reply but, finding no appropriate answer for that morbid and ridiculous question, quitted the room. As he was heading to his destination, his wife was traveling to Penney Estate. It took Steed a much shorter duration to arrive at Department S.   
  
After going through the painfully tedious procedure of reaching the hospital, Steed was exhausted. He clumped noisily into the building where a petite nurse ordered him to be silent, less he disturb a recuperating patient.  
  
Mrs. Diana Parker bounded down the stairs as giddy as a schoolgirl. From the looks of it, she had recovered from her injuries and was being released. As Steed stared at the bubbly, middle-aged Blonde, he devised a clever idea.  
  
"Ah, Mrs. Parker, just the woman I wanted to see!" he cried in exultation.   
  
Diana Parker stared confusedly around her in case Steed was addressing someone else. "What have I done wrong?"  
  
"Nothing; I'm just here to make sure your agent skills haven't gone to waste while you were convalescing. I just have this simple test for you to perform."   
  
At that inopportune moment, the nurse spoke up, "Mother, Agent Mitchell will see you now."  
  
Steed smiled grimly at the suddenly very piqued Diana Parker. "If your name is Mother, then my last name is Rigg!" Mrs. Parker exclaimed.   
  
"You were impersonating Mother?" the nurse cried in alarm. "I'm going to be fired and on my first day, too!"  
  
"See, Mrs. Parker, you've past the first phase of the test!" Steed hurriedly said. "You were able to differentiate me from that obese man in the wheelchair. This proves that your mind is very much alive!"  
  
"Of course my brain is alive, or I'd be dead!" the ignorant yet at the same time smart Agent Parker retorted.  
  
"Whoever you are, shall I ask Agent Mitchell to come down?" the nurse inquired, annoyed at the manipulative Steed.  
  
"No, I'll go up to his room, if that's all right," Steed turned to the female agent. "Mrs. Parker, for this next test you will need a tape recorder.  
  
"Well, I don't have one at the moment!" bemoaned Diana.  
  
"It just so happens, there's a minute recorder in my brolly. You press this button to record any dialogue or noise you want." Steed reluctantly handed over his umbrella like it might break under the handling of Mrs. Parker.  
  
Being in excellent health, the two decided to use the stairs to get to the second story instead of the lift. Mrs. Parker knew where Mitchell's room was, and they soon reached it.   
  
"You stay outside the door and see if you can pick up any of our conversation from inside," Steed whispered.  
  
"Steed, are you certain all these tests are absolutely necessary?" Diana Parker asked dubiously.  
  
"It's absolutely, absolutely necessary," was the childish reply.  
  
Mrs. Parker only shrugged before crouching low on the floor to avoid detection. After showing her how to work the umbrella, Steed rapped the door with his large knuckles. A distant, masculine voice bade him to enter the domicile.  
  
To say Mitchell was astonished when he saw John Steed enter his hospital room instead of Mother would be an understatement. He gaped incredulously at the stately figure before him, contemplating what he should do. "What are you doing here?" he finally demanded in a hoarse whisper.  
  
"I came to see how your leg was fairing, you know the one you injured." Steed stepped over to the other agent, who was sitting complacently in a hospital bed. Mitchell seemed to have recovered his composure as a good spy should in times of peril.  
  
"That's very civil of you, Steed, but my leg is feeling fine." Rutherford P. Mitchell patted his left thigh as he spoke.  
  
"That is good to know," Steed chuckled merrily. Suddenly, the cheery light in his grey eyes was replaced by a look of utter malevolence, like a farmer may glare at a pesky rabbit that has eaten his prized vegetables. "You were dragging your right leg before."  
  
"Don't be utterly ridiculous, Steed old boy," Mitchell scoffed. "I don't have any idea what you are talking about."  
  
"Maybe this will ring a bell in that forgetful mind of yours: the late Agent Fran Minolta has a twin sister who you have been seeing on the sly." Steed perched himself on the edge of the bed as Rutherford stared contemptuously at him.  
  
"What if I am dating an agent's sister? Is that any reason to accuse me of-of faking a crippled leg?"  
  
"I didn't say you were faking; I just said it was your right leg that was injured when I saw you before." Steed smiled superiorly at the faltering agent. "And why was your latest girl posing as Miss Minolta when I visited here two days ago? Was it so she could help you set off the land mines while I was walking through the field? Or was it so you could plan your next murder together?"  
  
At this accusation, Mitchell sprang up from his bed and began strangling Steed. But John had anticipated this and grabbed his adversary's wrists. He backed the struggling Mitchell into the wall, commenting through clenched teeth, "Fran may have been a good sister, but she was an awful spy. She probably told her twin how Mrs. Gale was meeting Mother, and Fran's sister told you. Posing as a nurse again, Fran's twin sneaked you out of Department S to go to Penney Estate. That's where you committed the ghastly murder."  
  
"You have incredible deductive skills, but you left out several important things," Mitchell crowed as he managed to free himself from Steed's grasp. "It's true that Jane was posing as Fran and that she helped me escape, but we had no idea you were going to be at the convalescent home that day. She came there to flee from the real Fran Minolta, who had gone home to break up Jane's relationship with me. It seems Fran had heard about my wicked reputation with the ladies while she had been in spy school." Grinning vainly, Mitchell dashed over to a little bedside table.  
  
"What a confusing case of secret identity!" Steed murmured as he advanced toward Rutherford Mitchell.  
  
"It becomes even stranger after that. I met Jane when I was on my last mission. I didn't know that she had a twin sister in the ministry until I completed the case. That's when I started coming up with my murderous schemes. If I could get Jane under my little finger, she would obey my every whim. Well, it succeeded, so we planned our first frame-up. So the agency wouldn't suspect me, I faked my injury and was sent to the infirmary to recover. Jane came to Department S, posing as Fran, to get me when it was time to kill Mother and her sister."   
  
Steed tripped the evil spy, sending him crashing to the floor. "How did you know Basil was going to have a meeting with Mother?"  
  
"Basil had been in the hospital a day before the meeting for treatment on a dislocated shoulder. He was bragging his appointment to the other spies, so I called up Jane. When he went to Penney Estate, we were not far behind him.  
  
"Basil had an antique revolver that was very similar to my own. I knew that someone would recognise what sort of gun was used to shoot Mother, so I sneaked into Basil flat while on our way to Penny Estate and fired his gun. I was wearing gloves, naturally, so the police wouldn't suspect. Then, Fran and I went to kill Mother. Unfortunately, Mother was sporting chain mail that day, so we would have to get rid of Mother once more.  
  
"We had more difficulty finding out when Mrs. Gale was visiting Mother, especially since Fran had returned from looking for Jane. She realised that Jane had been impersonating her in her absence. She confronted her twin, but Jane was too sly for that novice agent. While Fran was scolding her sister for gallivanting around the country with me, Jane managed to pry the information of Mrs. Gale's meeting out of her.  
  
"Fran realised to late her vast mistake. She knew we were behind the crimes, so we had to dispose of her. We decided to kill her instead of Mother. Poor Jane almost refused to kill her own sister, but I made her see the light." Mitchell filled the room with maniacal laughter that seemed to have become his trademark.  
  
"You hated us so badly you would do anything to make our lives miserable, so you sabotaged our meetings with Mother," Steed surmised. "My only question is: if you despised us that deeply, why not let us break away from the agency? Why did you want to kill Mother instead of murdering us?"  
  
"Remember, you sent me to prison on some remote Caribbean isle! I wasn't even near my native land or my family. When I was released from jail, I vowed I would get even with you, Mrs. Steed, Mrs. Gale, Tara, and Dr. King," Mitchell cried bitterly. "I wanted to make you suffer in prison, or worse, be executed in a slow and painful way. Shooting you in the head once would not be very painful. It had to be something more sinister. Who cares if Mother died in the process; he was probably going to let you leave!"  
  
"Congratulations, you almost succeeded in your plan," Steed exclaimed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's quite alarming to know that there are psychopaths like you in the ministry."  
  
"Though we both know I'm the murderer, nobody else does," Mitchell's husky voice replied. "I could kill you now, Steed, then nobody at the convalescent center besides me would know who the real murder is."   
  
"But Mrs. Peel and my other friends would know the truth."  
  
"By the time your body was found, Jane and I would be out of the country." Mitchell grabbed two tickets from the bedside table along with his antique revolver.  
  
"Would you murder me with witnesses around?" Steed asked, the smallest amount of tension in his charming voice. He edged up to the door until he was right against it.   
  
"Nobody is around except you and me." Rutherford triumphantly pointed the gun at Steed's heart. "I almost lost this little game when you figured out that Jane and I were the murderers. This time, though, I believe it shall be you who fails." With that remark, Mitchell placed his hand on the trigger, and . . .  
  
To Be Continued! 


	8. And Last?

And Last???  
  
Emma Steed knocked on the front door of the Minolta family. A wiry man of sixty odd years opened it a crack. "Mr. Minolta, I am Emma Steed. I've come to discuss some vital information with you."   
  
Mr. Minolta seemed shocked at hearing about his daughter, but he opened the door wider. Smiling a sympathetic smile, Mrs. Steed entered the quaint abode of the Minoltas. "I hate to disturb you, but I have some rather urgent news," Emma began once she was seated comfortably in a small but tidy living room.  
  
Mrs. Minolta spoke up, "We just saw Fran three days ago, so what as she done?"  
  
"I'm afraid it's what was done to her." Emma hesitated before continuing, "Your daughter Fran was killed yesterday afternoon by some crazed Gaslight Ghoul want-to-be."  
  
At that moment, Fran's twin entered the room, heard Mrs. Peel's dialogue, and let out a gasp of alarm. Turning to gaze at Fran's duplicate, Emma noted that she had blue eyes instead of brown, just as Cathy had said.  
  
There was a moment of discomfiting silence before Mrs. Minolta burst into inconsolable sobs. Mrs. Peel waited silently until the weeping subsided quite considerably.   
  
Then she spoke, "I have all the information regarding her death and her killer." Emma gently passed the papers to the wan Mr. Minolta. "I think you could all use a glass of liquor at this trying time."  
  
"Yes, how good of you to suggest it, Mrs. Steed," Mr. Minolta wearily agreed. "Jane, would you please fetch us the bottle of port and some glasses?"  
  
Jane nodded, and Mrs. Peel offered to help her. Mr. Minolta remained in the living room, soothingly rocking his downhearted wife.  
  
When they were alone in the kitchen where the alcohol was stored, Emma remarked, "You didn't expect the ministry to respond so quickly to your twin's death, did you, Miss Minolta?"  
  
Jane abruptly dropped one of the liquor glasses back onto the silver tray where it had come from. It clattered noisily, but fortunately did not break. "I don't know what you're trying to say," she lied.  
  
"Well, Mrs. Gale, Steed, Mitchell, and I all know that it wasn't a Gaslight Ghoul impersonator that put that large gouge in Fran's back. Are you going to confess to the crime, or should I tell your parents the truth right now?" Emma nonchalantly strolled toward the living room, that cool smile that could unnerve the most collective of men creeping slowly across her full lips.   
  
Jane stammered protests as with each step, Emma came nearer to her parents. Wailing in utter grief, Jane Minolta cried, "Oh God, please don't tell them!" She sunk to the tiled floor, her body wracking with tears of guilt and grief, as she explained, "Mitchell said we would be married if I promised to help him in the scheme. I didn't want to kill anyone, especially my own sister, but he made it sound so mandatory. Rutty said we wouldn't get caught, that the evidence would point to the people we were framing. I would rather die than have Mother and Father learn the truth." Jane's piercing blue eyes were red from crying, and they gazed entreatingly at Mrs. Peel. "Please never tell them that Mitchell and I killed Fran-please! When I'm taken off to prison, I'll just say that I'm moving out because the memories are too painful. Don't you or anybody else let them know that I'm really going to court and may be executed."  
  
Emma knelt down next to the morose girl and placed a comforting hand on Jane's shoulder. She feared Jane's parents would enter the room and discover the dreadful truth. If they knew their own child had killed her only sister, they may crack under the strain. "I promise they will never learn the truth from me or any of my friends."   
  
Mr. Minolta entered the room, spotted his daughter, and likewise began to cry. "We need to stick together under these circumstances," he told Jane. Mrs. Minolta likewise came into the room to bawl with her family.  
  
Emma edged toward the front door and let herself out. She couldn't bear to see any more turmoil or hear any more sobbing. How terrible murder was! How could anyone take the life of a person without ruing his evil deed until the day he died? Even though it was hard to imagine anyone being that cruel, Emma knew people like that existed. Mitchell was a prime example of the debauched men and women that live in the world.  
  
As she thought about the diabolical man, Mrs. Steed gave an involuntary shudder. All at once she remembered that her husband was visiting that wicked man. "Steed may be in grave danger at this moment, and I'm not able to help him!" she cried despairingly. She almost flew into her blue Lotus Élan before speeding down the road. She had to see if Steed was all right!  
  
*************  
  
Mitchell had just aimed the gun at Steed's heart when Mrs. Parker entered the room. Quickly, with all the strength she could muster, she threw the brolly at him.   
  
The umbrella didn't go far, but it did rivet itself into Agent Mitchell's toes. Yelping in pain, Mr. Mitchell dropped the revolver to grab his right foot. He immediately began hopping around the room, cursing like a drunken sailor.   
  
Diana Parker made a mad dash for the weapon, but Steed reached it first. They wrestled for it, and Mitchell, recovered from his injury, started grappling for the gun as well.   
  
Steed grabbed for the gun and punched Mitchell in the breadbasket. Instantly afterward, an indescribable pain shot through John Steed's right ear. The pain was so great he could not pick up the coveted weapon. Steed realised that Mitchell had cuffed him soundly in the ear.  
  
Mrs. Parker was about to retrieve the gun when it occurred to her that she shouldn't pick it up without a glove or a handkerchief, lest she leave her finger prints behind. Instead of grabbing it, Diana kicked it far away from herself. Unfortunately, she kicked it toward Mitchell, who promptly picked up the antique gun.   
  
He pointed it at Mrs. Parker this time, snarling, "You shouldn't have been eavesdropping."  
  
It appeared that Mrs. Parker was about to meet her Maker, when Tara King burst through the door, handling a four-caliber pistol. The two, armed spies pointed their guns at each other, both eager to shoot. "All right, Mitchell," Tara began steadily, "You put down your gun and I'll set down mine."  
  
Rutherford Mitchell surveyed the brunette woman clad in the greyish-blue turtleneck that clung tightly to her, accentuating her voluptuous figure. Her legs were attired in blue pants, which were held snugly to her waist by a black belt. She was wearing a wig that curled right below her ears, making her look even more youthful than she really was. It would be a shame to kill her, but he would have to.  
  
"I'm putting down my gun now, Tara," Mitchell lied. He made a gesticulation that seemed like he was casting his revolver aside, when in reality, he was preparing to fire.  
  
Tara hesitated before kneeling on the floor to set her pistol down. Out of the corner of her blue eye, she saw Mitchell twirling the gun around his finger absentmindedly. At any other time, seeing a man play with a gun as if he was right of a western would have been hilarious to her. But knowing that this sinister character was bent on double-crossing her, she was anything but amused.  
  
"I've set my gun down," Mitchell fibbed again, "so what are you waiting for? Let's duke it out, man to woman."  
  
Tara gazed at Steed and Mrs. Parker huddled nervously in a corner of the room with Steed's brolly. If she messed up, they would all be dead. In one swift maneuver, she was on her feet and firing the revolver out of Mitchell's hand.   
  
Mitchell stared at her, stupefied and wondering how she had beaten him at his own game. Before he had time to react, Tara was upon him, kicking him in his breadbasket. He grabbed the leg that was in his stomach and yanked it. Tara fell ungracefully to the linoleum floor.   
  
Mitchell jumped on top of her, but Miss King extended her arms and legs at the last moment, pushing Mitchell into the air. He landed near Steed, who angrily smacked him over the head with his brolly. The umbrella buckled because of the contact but remained in one piece. Vision distorted from being smacked over the head, Mitchell swung at Steed but missed.  
  
"I think this is what you meant to do," Steed muttered as he boxed the evil agent in the eye. Steed watched the fellow male agent stumble into Tara's awaiting arms.   
  
She grabbed his arms and began swing him around the room at a dizzying pace. After several rotations, she let go and watched Mitchell spin into a wall. Rutherford, or as Jane would call him, "Rutty," was barely conscious.  
  
"You thought we were alone when we were talking," Steed started, "but Mrs. Parker was right outside with my umbrella with the recorder built into it."  
  
"I recorded everything you said, Mitchell, you naughty boy!" added Diana indignantly.  
  
The words barely registered in Mitchell's addled mind, but he knew one thing: Tara had carelessly tossed her pistol away when she had kicked him in the stomach! It was now lying inches from him, easy for him to grasp, which he did accordingly. He fumbled to his feet as he cried in exultation, "I highly doubt that umbrella is going to come in handy at this time!" He pointed the gun at his archenemies. "As soon as you are dead, I'll destroy all the evidence!"   
  
Mitchell hoarded the trio together, placing them side-by-side as if they were about to be inspected. In a way they were, for he was about to kill them one after another. "Any last request before you are executed?"   
  
Tara licked her lips nervously as she pleaded, "I only wish that you will let me say goodbye to my friends, maybe even hug them or something of that nature." It was a pathetic elocution, but Rutherford nodded his head grimly. Miss King proceeded to hug each of the distraught spies extremely slowly.  
  
"Hurry up, or I'll shoot you now," Mitchell growled, his hand on the trigger once more.  
  
Tara made no response, but whispered to Steed, "Mother came with me to Department S. He promised to come upstairs if we didn't return in ten minutes. According to my watch, exactly ten minutes have passed."   
  
  
Mitchell was about to ask what she was whispering to Steed when Mother entered the room. "What the . . ." Mitchell began in surprise. Instinctively, he shot at his superior but fortunately missed the target altogether.   
  
As he approached the demented agent, Mother inquired slowly and serenely, "Why are you committing all these dastardly deeds?  
  
"You want to know why, eh?" Mr. Mitchell asked poisonously. "You're going to let Steed and his fiendish friends leave the ministry after disobeying you and torturing me! Since you aren't about to punish them, I'm going to kill you and the rest of this sorry lot!" Mitchell howled evilly, a fit of insanity taking control of his mind.  
  
Steed took this opportune moment to grab "Rutty's" arms and twist them behind his back, knocking the gun from his grasp. Tara kicked the pistol much in the same way Mrs. Parker had earlier, but she managed to drive it under the hospital bed out of reach of any sinister hands.  
  
Steed kept his firm grip on Mitchell as he forced him to his feet. "Mrs. Parker, play the umbrella for Mother."   
  
Diana Parker, quaking with fright, pushed the play button. The whole conversation played before Mother's interested ears. During the entire duration, Agent Mitchell made no comment but instead gazed out the window into oblivion. He knew now that his diabolical plan had failed due to the quick wits of John Steed, Emma Peel, Tara King, and even Catherine Gale. When the dialogue finished, Mitchell was shaking his head out of self-pity and remorse of his heinous crimes.  
  
Mother stared grimly at the murderous agent and sighed. "Thank God for that." The spies stared at each other, wondering what he meant by that ambiguous phrase. Mother explained himself by continuing, "I'm so glad that we are finally able to legally prove that Mrs. Gale isn't the murderer. Now I won't be arguing with myself whether I was right to assist her in her escape.   
  
"Mitchell must be arrested right away, and Mrs. Gale released from her bondage. Rhonda, phone Shuston and Pemberly so they can come over to Department S to arrest the real murderer. Tell them that while they're at the jail, release my nephew Basil."  
  
"And someone must run over to Penney Estate to get Mrs. Gale," Steed added.  
  
"I believe I shall do just that." His purpose as clear as daylight, Mother let the silent Rhonda push him out of the room. When he was halfway out the door, he forced Rhonda to stop. "I certainly hope you can handle this criminal while I'm away."  
  
The three agents gazed at each other, and Tara remarked astutely, "I think after all the teamwork we performed this evening, we will be able to handle this rotten secret agent with ease." Steed and Mrs. Parker readily agreed with the sagacious girl.  
  
When Mother had left the vicinity, Steed, Tara, and Diana forced Mitchell into a straightjacket and locked him in his room. "Someone should keep an eye on that crazed killer, but who?" Steed let his question hang in the air.  
  
"I think I could help in this situation," came a gravelly voice. Harrod, the wiry, nervous man with the bandaged head and elbow, appeared from his room, which was several doors down.   
  
"I thought you were the enemy!" Steed confessed as Mr. Harrod strolled over to them.  
  
"No, but I discovered that Mitchell was faking his injuries, so he swore me to secrecy or I would be killed as well. He told me of his plans to dispose of you and your lady friends. I supposed he figured I didn't want to be murdered so I would keep my mouth shut." Harrod shrug his scrawny shoulders. "I would be pleased to watch that psychopath!"  
  
Steed acquiesced, and he and the two female spies ventured downstairs. They knew it would be some time before Pemberly and Shuston arrived at the convalescent center. All they had to do was wait, which was not easy for the trained agents.  
  
Finally, the two male spies came to take Mitchell into custody. Steed followed them out to the jail car so he could give them his brolly, the vital piece of evidence. As Shuston's car sped away into the night, a feminine voice cried, "Steed, you're alive and safe!"  
  
Steed beheld a statuesque woman in a pale pink blouse, covered by a two-tone salmon jacket that was fastened by a single frog across the chest. A matching salmon skirt came down to the woman's knees, and a bright pink scarf that had been tied around her neck completed the outfit. Steed knew without a doubt that it was Emma, his Emma.  
  
She raced up to him, panting from carrying an extra person. Emma was not the type of lady that cried out of distress or relief. However, her big eyes stared at him with an utter look of concern in them. The two exchanged a mutual glance that only they could comprehend.   
  
"I think we should go home," Steed remarked quietly.  
  
"We'll take my car," Mrs. Steed began dulcetly, "because I don't want to run the risk of your Bentley breaking down in the middle of nowhere."  
  
"But what a wonderful way to get stranded, just the two of us," Steed argued flippantly.  
  
"I think you mean three of us," Emma reminded him as she pointed to her round stomach.  
She hopped into the driver's seat of her Lotus Élan, and Steed reluctantly followed.  
  
Tara followed them and said, "I'll have one of our men bring your car home, Steed."   
  
"Thank you, Tara; that would be most appreciated." Steed barely had time to finish before Mrs. Peel's vehicle screeched down the road. He really had ought to speak to his wife about her erratic driving.  
  
Tara, always the oddest of the Avengers, mockingly saluted the Steeds as they disappeared from sight. "Happy Trails, Steed," she murmured to herself in amusement.  
  
***********  
  
Cathy Gale blinked several times in the bright light as she was let out of the secret room. Mother smiled shortly at the buxom blonde before exclaiming, "We have apprehended the real murderer and are letting you go. I wish there was something I could do to make up for the last two terrible days."  
  
"Thank you Mother, but the greatest debt you can pay is to allow Steed to join another ministry or create his own." With that blunt remark, Mrs. Gale left the suddenly quiet Mother alone with his meditations.  
  
Dr. Catherine Gale was extremely wary from the last tumultuous twenty-four hours. She fell into her apartment, ready to take a long nap. She was astounded when she saw Dr. Martin King sitting impatiently in a brown chair. "What are you doing here?" she snapped.  
  
"Mother phoned me to say that you had been released from custody."  
  
"That was very sweet of him, but he needn't have bothered." Mrs. Gale crossed her arms over her chest, making her black, leather vest crinkle.   
  
"Cathy, dear Cathy, I want to apologise for my selfish behaviour. I don't want my own stubbornness and pride to break up our relationship. I've decided to take a post in Africa like I promised before." Martin King placed a loving hand on Cathy's taut face.  
  
Catherine Gale relaxed in the care of her loved one, letting him envelop her in a warm embrace. "You would do that for me?" she asked in a soft tone that she never used on Steed.  
  
"Well, isn't making sacrifices part of what you do when you're in love?" Martin replied. He cupped her chin in his hand before placing a gentle kiss on her lips. "Besides you were right when you said the Africans need doctors. Now what sort of ring do you want?"  
  
"I want a great big diamond, so I can flaunt in front of John Steed's face," Cathy quipped. Then she shook her head and added, "No, just a sensible but beautiful ring will do for me."  
  
"A beautiful and sensible ring for a gorgeous and practical lady." Martin smiled as he inched toward Cathy's glowing face for another kiss.  
  
  
To Be Continued! 


	9. Two Months Later and Tag

Two Months Later  
  
  
The Avengers were standing outside the agency's courthouse where the trial of Jane Minolta and Rutherford Mitchell versus the agents of the ministry was just finishing. The judge had just announced the verdict to the court: guilty.  
  
"I'm thankful it's all over!" John Steed exclaimed vehemently.  
  
"Who isn't thankful?" Emma Peel added as she smiled apprehensively. Now nine months pregnant, she noticed that it was becoming quite uncomfortable to perform even the most normal tasks like standing.   
  
"I'm just glad that you three were with me through this whole ordeal," Cathy proclaimed, smiling briefly at her spy friends. Then she linked arms with her fiancé and beamed at his rugged face.  
  
"Excuse, Mr. Steed, but I have a letter for you from Mother." Lola Anderson, the spy from the jail, approached the quintet. "He gave it to me as I was leaving the courthouse."  
  
Thanking her in his charming way, Steed took the note. Lola walked off, swinging her hips sexily. Steed didn't peruse the letter but stared longingly at Miss Anderson.   
  
"Uh pardon me, Steed, but I would like to see what the note says," Tara interjected.   
  
"I guess the trial didn't sober him as much as we thought," Emma commented, a half frown playing on her lips.  
  
Steed didn't hear her because he was intently scrutinising the note. In the letter Mother wrote that he wanted to see Steed, his wife, Tara, and Mrs. Gale immediately at his office, which was an abandoned library.  
  
Steed folded the letter the letter into a tiny bundle and slipped it into his black, pinstripe suit pocket. "We have to see Mother this instant."   
  
Dr. Martin King glanced at his wristwatch. "I don't have a patient at my surgery until one, so I think I'll come along with you."   
  
The agents hopped into either Steed's yellow Rolls Royce, or Tara's red Lotus. Soon they arrived at the library and entered the disheveled building. Rhonda greeted them with a wave of her long hand. She began pouring brandy for all the agents, except Mrs. Steed and Dr. King. Dr. King declined out of courtesy for the expecting Emma.  
  
Puffing one of his noxious cigars, Mother appeared from behind a tall bookshelf. "I thought you would never get here! It should have taken you exactly twenty minutes to arrive, yet you made it here in twenty-two minutes and fifteen seconds!"  
  
"It will never happen again, you have my word," Tara assured the punctual man.   
  
Mother seemed to believe the convincing Miss King, so he continued, "I have written a charter that-what the dash is Martin King doing here?" he demanded, disrupting his own self.   
  
"Well, he is my fiancé, so I thought I would bring him with me," Cathy explained.  
  
This answer seemed to suffice, for Mother went on. "As I was saying, I've written a document that gives you my permission to leave the ministry. You will need to sign your names to the paper, or it won't be valid."  
  
The Avengers eagerly placed their signatures on the charter. "Thank you, Mother, for cooperating," Steed remarked, his voice filled with earnest gratitude. The other spies uttered similar appreciative comments, Mother seeping them up proudly.   
  
"Just be sure to come and visit me some time," was all the unemotional man said.   
  
The five spies, amateur and professional, exited the building. Tara wasn't certain, but she could've sworn she saw several tears spring up into Mother's eyes.  
  
  
Tag  
  
  
"I give you a toast to the New Avengers!" Cathy exclaimed as she lifted her champagne glass high into the air.   
  
Miss King and Dr. King murmured their agreements as they sipped their own bubbly. Tara smoothed her exquisite and expensive dinner apparel. Her outfit consisted of a gauzy, plum blouse and royal purple pants that billowed out, making it look like a skirt.   
  
Tara glanced around Steed's flat where they were assembled. They, excluding Basil, had just joined another ministry where the chief was quite lenient towards spies having their own spouses or lovers. It was rumoured that a certain infamous agent that Steed despised worked at the ministry. Tara couldn't remember his full name, but she did recall that the man's last name was Bond.   
  
"Where is Steed?" Tara wanted to know. "He called his flat thirty minutes ago to tell us he was coming home, but he's not here yet."  
  
As if to answer Tara's question, Steed entered the room in an astonished stupor. "I can't believe this happened to me!"  
  
"Did you get framed for a gruesome murder?" Tara inquired.  
  
"It was worse than that!" Steed cried.  
  
"What happened to Emma Steed?" Martin King demanded.   
  
"Yes, why were you at the hospital so long?" Cathy added. "The last thing we heard was that the baby had arrived and you were coming home to celebrate."  
  
"I had 'gone into a temporary shock due to the unexpected surprise of having a baby,'" Steed replied.   
  
Cathy resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. "How could having a baby be unexpected if you knew your wife was pregnant for six months?"  
  
"Well, that's the diagnosis the doctor at the hospital gave me," Steed protested.  
  
"I don't care what that doctor told you." Martin began, "Was the baby a girl or a boy?"  
  
"I just don't believe what happened to me, John Wickham Gascoyne Beresford Steed!"  
Steed sunk into the chair with a loud groan.  
  
"The baby didn't die, did it?" Tara nearly shrieked in alarm.  
  
"No, it's even worse than that, if you can believe it; I had a baby girl! Ever since I was a boy, I've been trying to escape from little girls. Did you know I was the youngest of eight children, seven of them being female?"   
  
Nobody answered Steed, but Tara clapped her hands merrily at the prospect and exclaimed, "Oh, I have a little surrogate niece to spoil!"   
  
"Is her name Katherine Tara Steed as you promised?" Cathy queried in anticipation.  
  
"Well what do you think I did: call a girl Junior after me?" Steed bellowed. John Steed poured himself an ample glass of champagne, which he drank in one swift gulp. "The worst part of it all is what Emma said to me after I discovered that my baby was female. She said in that distracting wry voice of hers, 'Steed, we'll just have to have another baby, a boy, so you can name him after yourself.'"  
  
Everyone began to chuckle at this remark. "What did you say in return?" Tara asked.  
  
Steed blushed absolutely red as he replied, "I turned pale and ran out of the hospital, screaming 'NO,' at the top of my voice."  
  
With this, the entire assemblage, minus Steed, broke into a gale of laughter that lasted long into the night.  
  
THE END 


End file.
